• 


READ  IN as 


TKOU 


ENGLISH  HISTORY 


SELECTED  AND  EDITED. 


JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN,  M.A.,LL.D. 


■ 


■  '*.; 


OB 


■ 

l 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
ALEXANDER   F  MORRISON 


EEADINGS 


FROM 


ENGLISH  HISTORY 


SELECTED  AND  EDITED 

BY 

JOHN  RICHARD  £REEN,  M.A.,  LL.D. 

HONORARY    FELLOW   OF   JESUS    COLLEGE,  OXFORD 


THREE     PARTS    IN    ONE    VOLUME 


•      »  t 


n  t,  .      -     .     - 

NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE 


...     . 


Permission  has  kindly  been  given  to  insert  the  following  selections 
from  works  by  American  authors  : 

Battlb  of  Tewkesbury John  Foster  Kirk. 

Raleigh  and  Virginia George  Bancroft. 

The  First  Day's  Fight  with  the  Armada      ....  John  Lothrop  Motley. 

The  Last  Day's  Fight  with  the  Armada John  Lothrop  Motley. 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers George  Bancroft. 

Wolfe  at  Quebec George  Bancroft. 

Bunker's  Hill George  Bancroft. 


•  •  •  • 


•      *    •   •  < 


Copyright,  1879,  by  Habpbr  &  Booth bm. 


•  •      •  . 


•iv 


PREFACE. 

My   aim    in    compiling   these   books   of  historical 
extracts  is  a  very  simple  and  practical  one. 

The  teaching  of  English  History  is  spreading  fast 
through  our  schools  ;  but  it  can  hardly  be  said  as  yet 
to  have  become  a  popular  subject  of  study  among 
their  scnolars.  In  fact,  if  I  may  trust  my  own  ex- 
perience, a  large  proportion  of  boys  and  girls  turn 
from  it  as  "  hard,"  "  dry,"  and  "  uninteresting."  I 
cannot  say  that  the  complaint  is  a  groundless  one. 
In  their  zeal  to  cram  as  many  facts  as  possible  into 
their  pages,  the  writers  of  most  historical  text-books 
have  been  driven  to  shut  out  from  their  narratives 
all  that  gives  life  and  colour  to  the  story  of  men. 
History,  as  we  give  it  to  our  children,  is  literally 
"  an  old  almanack ; "  and  is  as  serviceable  as  an 
old  almanack  in  quickening  their  wits  or  in  rousing 
their  interest.  No  doubt  wiser  books  will  come  in 
time;  but  meanwhile  those  teachers  who  care  to 
appeal  to  more  valuable  faculties  than  that  of  mere 
memory  are  hard  put  to  it  to  find  a  remedy  for  the 
"  dryness  "  of  history. 

One  of  the  most  eminent  of  our  English  school- 
mistresses has  been  in  the  habit  of  breaking  from 
time  to  time  the  history  lessons  of  her  various  classes 


IV 


PREFACE. 


by  reading  to  them  passages  from  the  greater  his- 
torians, illustrative  of  some  event  in  the  time  which 
they  were  studying,  and  weaving  these  extracts  into 
a  continuous  story  by  a  few  words  at  their  opening 
and  close.  The  plan  is  a  very  simple  and  effective 
one,  as  its  success  has  proved,  for  history  has  become 
popular  with  her  scholars,  while  the  "  dry  "  parts  of 
the  text-books  are  mastered  with  far  greater  accuracy 
than  of  old.  There  is  but  one  obstacle  in  the  way 
of  its  general  adoption,  but  that  is  a  serious  one  ; 
for  it  presupposes  the  possession  of  an  historical 
library  far  too  large  and  expensive  to  be  within  the 
reach  of  the  bulk  of  teachers. 

It  is  this  difficulty  that  I  have  tried  in  some  degree 
to  meet  by  these  books  of  extracts.  Read  to  a  class 
which  has  fairly  mastered  the  facts  of  the  period 
which  they  illustrate,  I  trust  they  may  solve  in  some 
measure  the  difficulty  which  has  been  found  in  enlist- 
ing the  interest  of  the  learner  on  the  side  of  history, 
while  requiring  from  him  a  steady  knowledge  of 
historical  facts. 

In  compiling  this  book  I  have  been  driven  here  and 
there  by  sheer  necessity  of  space  to  omissions  and  a 
few  trivial  changes,  for  which  its  purely  educational 
character  must  be  my  excuse.  I  have  not  been  able 
to  avail  myself  as  largely  as  I  could  have  wished  of 
passages  from  recent  or  living  authors  ;  but  I  have  to 
acknowledge  my  obligations  to  Messrs.  Longman, 
Murray,  and  other  publishers  for  their  permission 
to  use  extracts  from  works  which  are  still  their 
property. 


CONTENTS 


PART    I. 

TAGB 

I.  The  Early  Englishmen—  Green i 

II.  The  English  Conquest  of  Britain— Gibbon  ...  5 

III.  Conversion  of  the  English— Freeman II 

IV.  Cadmon  and  Early  English  Poetry— Brooke    .    .  15 
V.  Alfred  at  Athelney — Lingard 19 

VI.  Alfred  and  his  Books— Palgrave 24 

VII.  Dunstan — Green 29 

VIII.  Battle  of  Hastings— Freeman 34 

IX.  The  Harrying  of  the  North — Freeman     ....  41 

X.  Lanfranc— Church 45 

XI.  Death  of  the  Conqueror— Palgrave 49 

XII.  Anselm's  Election — Church 53 

XIII.  Death  of  the  Red  King—  Palgrave 58 

XIV.  Blending  of  Conquerors  and  Conquered—  Green  62 
XV.  Battle  of  the  Standard—  Thierry 71 

XVI.  Thomas  the  Chancellor— Miss  Yonge 75 

XVII.  The  Murder  of  Becket— Stanley 81 

XVIII.  Death  of  Henry  the  Second— Stubbs 89 

XIX.  King  Richard  in  the  Holy  Land— Miss  Yonge  .    .  94 

XX.  John  and  the  Charter — Green 99 

XXI.  The  FRIARS  and  THE  '^ owns— Brewer 105 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

XXII.  Death  of  Simon  of  Montfort — Prothero   .     .    .    .no 

XX I II.  An  Early  Election  to  Parliament — Palgrave  .    .114 

XXIV.  Expulsion  of  Jews — Green 121 

XXV.  Wanderings  of  the  Bruce — Scott 126 

XXVI.  Bannockburn — Scott 132 

XXVII.  Chaucer— Brooke 138 

XXVIII.  Cressy — Miss  Yonge 145 


PART    II. 

I.  The  Peasant  Rising— 6Vr<?« 1 

II.  AGINCOURT — Michelet     ■ 7 

III.  Joan  of  Arc — Green 12 

IV.  Battle  of  Tewkesbury— Kirk 16 

V.  Caxton — Green 21 

VI.  Battle  of  Bosworth — Yonge 26 

VII.  The  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold — Yonge     ...  32 

VIII.  Flodden  Field — Scott 37 

IX.  The  Translation  of  the  Bible — Green 41 

X.  Coronation  of  Anne  Boleyn — Froude  .    ....  46 

XI.  Wyat's  Insurrection — Lingard 51 

XII.  The  Protestant  Martyrs — Green 58 

XIII.  Philip  of  Spain — Macaulay 63 

XIV.  Raleigh  and  Virginia — Bancroft .  68 

XV.  The  First  Day's  Fight  with  the  Armada— Motley  74 

XVI.  The  Last  Day's  Fight  with  the  Armada — Motley  78 

XVII.  Siiakspere's  Early  Life — Green 84 

XVIII.  The  Pilgrim  Fathers— Bancroft 90 

XIX.  Death  of  Raleigh—  Gardiner 96 

XX.  The  Puritans— Kingsley 100 


CONTENTS.  vii 

PACK 

XXI.  Milton — Green 105 

XXII.  Strafford's  Trial  and  Death — Forster 110 

XXIII.  in  \in  of  Hampden — Macaulay 115 

XXIV.  Marston  Moor — Markham 119 

XXV.  Trial  of  the  King — Forster 125 

XXVI.  Execution  of  Charles  the  First — Masson     .    .    .132 

XXVII.  Escape  of  Charles  the  Second — Guizot     ....  136 

XXVIII.  Driving  out  of  Long  Parliament — Guizot     .    .    .142 

XXIX.  Death  of  Cromwell — Guizot 147 


PART    III. 

I.  The  Restoration — Macaulay 1 

II.  Charles  the  Second — Green 6 

III.  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress" — Green n 

IV.  Per  :  iution  of  Covenanters — Scott 16 

V.  The  Popish  Plot — Macaulay 23 

VI.  The  Trial  of  the  Seven  Bishops — Mackintosh  .    .  29 

VII.  The  Landing  of  William  of  Orange — Macaulay  .  33 

VIII.  Killiecrankie — Scott 38 

IX.  Massacre  of  Glencoe — Scott 43 

X.  Marlborough  at  Blenheim — Green 48 

XL  Sir  Robert  Walpole — Macaulay 54 

XII.  Battle  of  Preston  Pans — Scott 61 

XIII.  Whitefield  and  Wesley — Green 67 

XIV.  Clivk  at  Arcot — Stanhope 71 

XV.  Wolfe  at  Quebec — Bancroft 77 

XVI.  Bunker's  Hill— Bancroft :    .  82 

XVII.  Watt— Smiles 86 

XVIII.  Battle  op  the  Nile—  Southey  .    ......         .91 


vin  CONTENTS. 

PAGH 

XIX.  Death  of  Nelson — Southey ioo 

XX.  The  Battle  of  Albuera — Napier 106 

XXI.  Waterloo — Green 112 

XXII.  The  Reform  Bill — Spencer  Walpole 117 

XXIII.  The  Retreat  from  Cabul — Alison 122 

XXIV.  George  Stephenson — J.  H.  Fyfe 129 

XXV.  Balaklava—  W.H.  Russell 133 


READINGS   FROM    ENGLISH    HISTORY. 

PART  I. 

FROM   HENGEST  TO   CRESSY. 


* 
,      •  * 


PROSE    READINGS 
FROM    ENGLISH    HISTORY, 

PART   I 
I. 

THE  EARLY  ENGLISHMEN. 

GREEN. 

[Britain,  or  the  island  in  which  we  live,  was  first  made  known 
to  the  civilized  world  by  a  Roman  General,  Julius  Caesar, 
in  the  year  55  before  the  birth  of  Christ.  Caesar  had 
conquered  Gaul,  a  country  which  included  our  present 
France  and  Belgium,  and  brought  it  under  the  rule  of 
Rome ;  but  in  the  course  of  his  conquest  he  learned  that 
to  the  west  of  Gaul  lay  an  island  named  Britain,  whose 
peoples  were  mainly  of  the  same  race  with  the  Gauls  and 
gave  them  help  in  their  struggles  against  the  Roman 
armies.  He  resolved  therefore  to  invade  Britain  ;  and  in 
two  successive  descents  he  landed  on  its  shores,  defeated 
the  Britons,  and  penetrated  at  last  beyond  the  Thames. 
No  event  in  history  is  more  memorable  than  this  landing 
of  Caesar.  In  it  the  greatest  man  of  the  Roman  race 
made  known  to  the  world  a  land  whose  people  in  the 
after-time  were  to  recall,  both  in  their  temper  and  in  the 
breadth  of  their  rule,  the  temper  and  empire  of  Rome. 
Caesar  however  was  recalled  from  Britain  by  risings  in 
Gaul ;  and  for  a  hundred  years  more  the  island  remained 
unconquered.     It  was  not  till  the  time  of  the  Emperor 


2         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY 

Claudius  that  its  conquest  was  again  undertaken  ;  and  a 
war  which  only  ended  under,  the  Emperor  Domitian  at 
last  brought -all  the  sfoiiCh&ii  £art  of  the  island  under  the 
rule  of  Rom'e.     Britain  remained  a  province  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  for  jnorethan.three-  hundred  years.     During  this 
time-*  its]  tribe*  T&ste '  roiucei-  to  order,  the  land  was  civil- 
ized, towns  were  built,  roads  made  from  one  end  of  the 
island   to  the   other,    mines  were  opened,  and   London 
grew  into  one  of   the  great    ports    of   the  world.       But 
much    oppression  was    mingled  with    this  work    of   pro- 
gress, and  throughout  these  centuries  the  province  was 
wasted  from  time  to  time  by  inroads  of  the  unconquered 
Britons  of   the  north,  whose   attacks  grew  more  formid- 
able as  Rome   grew  weaker  in  her  struggle  against  the 
barbarians  who  beset  her  on  every  border.     At  last  the 
Empire  was  forced  to  withdraw  its  troops  from  Britain, 
and  to  leave   the   province  to  defend   itself  against   its 
foes.      To  aid  in  doing  this,  the  Britons  called  in  bands 
of  soldiers  from  northern  Germany,  who  gradually  grew 
into  a  host   of  invaders,  and    became  in  turn  a  danger 
to   the   island.      These   were   our    forefathers,   the  first 
Englishmen  who  set  foot  in  Britain.] 

For  the  fatherland  of  the  English  race  we  must  look  far 
away  from  England  itself.     In  the  fifth  century  after  the 
birth  of  Christ   the  one  country  which  we  know  to  have 
borne  the   name   of   Angeln   or   England   lay  within   the 
district  which  is  now  called  Sleswick,  a  district  in  the  heart 
of  the  peninsula  that   parts  the  Baltic  from  the  northern 
seas.1     Its  pleasant  pastures,  its  black-timbered  homesteads, 
its  prim  little  townships  looking  down  on  inlets  of  purple 
water,  were  then  but  a  wild  waste  of  heather  and   sand, 
girt  along  the  coast  with  a  sunless  woodland  broken  here 
and  there  by  meadows  that  crept  down  to  the  marshes  and 
the  sea.     The  dwellers  in  this  district  however  seem  to  have 
been  merely  an  outlying  fragment  of  what  was  called  the 

1   The  peninsula  nf  Sleswick-Holstcin  and  of  Jutland. 


THE  EARLY  ENGLISHMEN.  3 

Engle  or  English  folk,  the  bulk  of  whom  lay  probably  in 
what  is  now  Lower  Hanover  and  Oldenburg.  On  one 
side  of  them  the  Saxons  of  Westphalia  held  the  land  from 
the  Weser  to  the  Rhine ;  on  the  other  the  Eastphalian 
Saxons  stretched  away  to  the  Elbe.  North  again  of  the 
fragment  of  the  English  folk  in  Sleswick  lay  another 
kindred  tribe,  the  Jutes,  whose  name  is  still  preserved  in 
their  district  of  Jutland.  Engle,  Saxon,  and  Jute  all  be- 
longed to  the  same  Low-German  branch  of  the  Teutonic 
family;2  and  at  the  moment  when  history  discovers  them 
they  were  being,  drawn  together  by  the  ties  of  a  com- 
mon blood,  common  speech,  common  social  and  political 
institutions.  There  is  little  ground  indeed  for  believing 
that  the  three  tribes  looked  on  themselves  as  one  people, 
or  that  we  can  as  yet  apply  to  them,  save  by  anticipation, 
the  common  name  of  Englishmen.  But  each  of  them  was 
destined  to  share  in  the  conquest  of  the  land  in  which  we 
live  ;  and  it  is  from  the  union  of  all  of  them  when  its  con- 
quest was  complete  that  the  English  people  has  sprung. 

The  energy  of  these  peoples  found  vent  in  a  restlessness 
which  drove  them  to  take  part  in  the  general  attack  of  the 
German  race  on  the  empire  of  Rome.3  For  busy  tillers 
and  busy  fishers  as  Englishmen  were,  they  were  at  heart 
fighters  ;  and  their  world  was  a  world  of  war.  Tribe  warred 
with  tribe,  and  village  with  village  ;  even  within  the  town- 
ship itself  feuds  parted  household  from  household,  and 
passions  of  hatred  and  vengeance  were  handed  on  from 
father  to  son.    Their  mood  was  above  all  a  mood  of  fighting 

2  Teutonic  is  the  general  name  for  all  branches  of  the  German 
race,  either  in  Germany  or  elsewhere.  3  /;/  the  fifth  and 

sixth  centuries  after  Christ  the  Empire  of  Rome  was  attacked  by 
the  German  peoples,  who  overran  most  of  its  provinces  in  the 
west,  and  founded  new  nations  there.  Thus  the  Franks  con- 
quered Gaul,  the  Lombards  northern  Italy ;  and  made  them 
France  and  Lombardy. 


4  PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

men,  venturesome,  self-reliant,  proud,  with  a  dash  of  hard- 
ness and  cruelty  in  it,  but  ennobled  by  the  virtues  which 
spring  from  war,  by  personal  courage  and  loyalty  to  plight- 
ed word,  by  a  high  and  stern  sense  of  manhood  and  the 
worth  of  man.  A  grim  joy  in  hard  fighting  was  already 
a  characteristic  of  the  race.  War  was  the  Englishman's 
"shield-play"  and  "  sword-game  " ;  the  gleeman's4  verse 
took  fresh  fire  as  he  sang  of  the  rush  of  the  host  and  the 
crash  of  its  shield-line.  Their  arms  and  weapons,  helmet 
and  mailshirt,  tall  spear  and  javelin,  sword  and  seax,  the 
short  broad  dagger  that  hung  at  each  warrior's  girdle, 
gathered  to  them  much  of  the  legend  and  the  art  which 
gave  colour  and  poetry  to  the  life  of  Englishmen.  Each 
sword  had  its  name  like  a  living  thing.  And  next  to  their 
love  of  war  came  their  love  of  the  sea.  Everywhere 
throughout  Beowulf's  song,  as  everywhere  throughout  the 
life  that  it  pictures,  we  catch  the  salt  whiff  of  the  sea.  The 
Englishman  was  as  proud  of  his  sea-craft  as  of  his  war- 
craft  ;  sword  in  teeth  he  plunged  into  the  sea  to  meet 
walrus  and  sea-lion  ;  he  told  of  his  whale-chase  amidst  the 
icy  waters  of  the  north.  Hardly  less  than  his  love  for  the 
sea  was  the  love  he  bore  to  the  ship  that  traversed  it.  In 
the  fond  playfulness  of  English  verse  the  ship  was 
"  the  wave-floater,"  "  the  foam-necked,"  "  like  a  bird  "  as  it 
skimmed  the  wave-crest,  "  like  a  swan  "  as  its  curved  prow 
breasted  the  "  swan-road  "  of  the  sea. 

Their  passion  for  the  sea  marked  out  for  them  their  part 
in  the  general  movement  of  the  German  nations.  While 
Goth  and  Lombard  were  slowly  advancing  over  mountain 
and  plain  the  boats  of  the  Englishmen  pushed  faster  over 
the  sea.  Bands  of  English  rovers,  outdriven  by  stress  oi 
fight,  had  long  found  a  home   there,    and   lived  as   they 

4  Gleeman  is  the  old  English  name  for  minstrel. 


THE  ENGLISH  CONQUEST  OF  BRITAIN.  5 

could  by  sack  of  vessel  or  coast.  Chance  has  preserved 
for  us  in  a  Sleswick  peat-bog  one  of  the  war-keels 5  of  these 
early  pirates.  The  boat  is  flat-bottomed,  seventy  feet  long 
and  eight  or  nine  feet  wide,  its  sides  of  oak  boards  fastened 
with  bark  ropes  and  iron  bolts.  Fifty  oars  drove  it  over 
the  waves  with  a  freight  of  warriors  whose  arms,  axes, 
swords,  lances,  and  knives  were  found  heaped  together  in 
its  hold.  Like  the  galleys  of  the  Middle  Ages  such  boats 
could  only  creep  cautiously  along  from  harbour  to  harbour 
in  rough  weather ;  but  in  smooth  water  their  swiftness  fitted 
them  admirably  for  the  piracy  by  which  the  men  of  these 
tribes  were  already  making  themselves  dreaded.  Its  flat 
bottom  enabled  them  to  beach  the  vessel  on  any  fitting 
coast ;  and  a  step  on  shore  at  once  transformed  the  boat- 
men into  a  war-band.  From  the  first  the  daring  of  the 
English  race  broke  out  in  the  secrecy  and  suddenness  of 
the  pirates'  swoop,  in  the  fierceness  of  their  onset,  in  the 
careless  glee  with  which  they  seized  either  sword  or  oar. 
"  Foes  are  they,"  sang  a  Roman  poet  of  the  time,  "  fierce 
beyond  other  foes  and  cunning  as  they  are  fierce ;  the  sea 
is  their  school  of  war  and  the  storm  their  friend ;  they  are 
sea-wolves  that  prey  on  the  pillage  of  the  world  1 " 


II. 

THE  ENGLISH  CONQUEST  OF  BRITAIN. 

GIBBON. 

[These  English  pirates  were  called  to  Britain  by  the  Britons 
themselves.  As  troubles  gathered  round  Rome  itself,  the 
Empire  withdrew  its  troops  and  officers  from  the  island ; 

5  Keel  is  still  in  northern  England  the  name  for  a  boat. 


PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGEISH  HISTORY. 

but  with  independence  came  the  need  of  fighting  for  self 
defence  against  the  sea-rovers  who  attacked  its  shores 
and  the  Picts  or  tribes  of  the  Scotch  Highlands  who  pene- 
trated to  the  heart  of  the  country.  It  was  to  repulse  the 
Picts  that  Britain  sought  the  aid  of  some  bands  of  Jutes 
who  landed  under  their  chieftain,  Hengist,  in  Kent,  and 
obtained  lands  there  in  reward  for  their  assistance.  But 
the  Jutes  themselves  soon  became  as  great  a  danger  as 
the  Picts  whom  they  had  repulsed  ;  as  quarrels  arose  with 
Britons  they  called  for  help  from  their  fatherland;  and 
bands  of  Jutes,  Saxons,  and  Angles  descended  one  after 
another  on  the  shores  of  Britain  to  begin  a  work  of  con- 
quest which  at  last  made  the  land  their  own.  Faction 
and  internal  weakness  aided  the  progress  of  the  invaders ; 
but  the  Britons  fought  hard  for  their  land ;  and  in  no  part 
of  the  Roman  world  did  the  German  warriors  find  so  long 
and  so  stubborn  a  resistance.] 


Under  the  long  dominion  of  the  Emperors  Britain  had 
been  insensibly  moulded  into  the  elegant  and  servile  form  of 
a  Roman  province,  whose  safety  was  intrusted  to  a  foreign 
power.  The  subjects  of  Honorius 1  contemplated  their  new 
freedom  with  surprise  and  terror ;  they  were  left  destitute  of 
any  civil  or  military  constitution  ;  and  their  uncertain  rulers 
wanted  either  skill,  or  courage,  or  authority  to  direct  the 
public  force  against  the  common  enemy.  The  introduction 
of  the  Jutes  betrayed  their  internal  weakness,  and  de- 
graded the  character  both  of  the  prince  and  people.  Their 
consternation  magnified  the  danger;  the  want  of  union 
diminished  their  resources ;  and  the  madness  of  civil 
factions  was  more  solicitous  to  accuse,  than  to  remedy 
the  evils,  which  they  imputed  to  the  misconduct  of  their 


1  The  Roman  Empire  was  parted  between  two  brothers, 
Honorius  and  Arcadius.  Honorius  ruled  all  its  western  pro~ 
vinces,  including  Britain,  till  the  withdrawal  of  the  Roman 
administration  from  that  island  in  411. 


THE  ENGLISH  CONQUEST  OF  FRITAIN.  7 

adversaries.2  Yet  the  Britons  were  not  ignorant,  they  could 
not  be  ignorant,  of  the  manufacture  or  the  use  of  arms : 
the  successive  and  disorderly  attacks  of  the  invaders 
allowed  them  to  recover  from  their  amazement,  and  the 
prosperous  or  adverse  events  of  the  war  added  discipline 
and  experience  to  their  native  valour. 

While  the  continent  of  Europe  and  Africa  yielded  without 
resistance  to  the  barbarians,  the  British  island,  alone  and 
unaided,  maintained  a  long,  a  vigorous,  though  an  unsuccess- 
ful struggle  against  the  formidable  pirates,3  who,  almost  at 
the  same  instant,  assaulted  the  northern,  the   eastern,  and 
the  southern  coasts.     The  cities  which  had  been  fortified 
with  skill  were  defended  with  resolution  :   the  advantages 
of  ground,  hills,  forests,  and  morasses,  were  diligently  im. 
proved  by  the  inhabitants  ;  the  conquest  of  each  district  was 
purchased  with  blood  ;  and  the  defeats  of  the  invaders  are 
strongly  attested  by  the  discreet  silence  of  their  annalist.4 
Hengist  might  hope  to  achieve  the  conquest  of  Britain  ;  but 
his  ambition  in  an  active  reign  of  thirty-five  years  was  con- 
fined to  the  possession  of  Kent.    The  monarchy  of  the  West 
Saxons  was  laboriously  founded  by  the  persevering  efforts  of 
three  martial  generations.     The  life  of  Cerdic,  one  of  the 
bravest  of  the  children  of  Woden,  was  consumed   in   the 
conquest  of  Hampshire  and  the  Isle  of  Wight ;  and  the  loss 
which  he  sustained  in  the  battle  of  Mount  Badon,5  reduced 
him  to  a  state  of  inglorious  repose. 

Kenric,  his  valiant  son,  advanced  into  Wiltshire ;  besieged 

2  //  is  probable  that  in  the  withdrawal  of  the  Roman  authori- 
ties two  parties  disputed  the  rule  of  Britain,  one  that  of  the 
townsfolk,  who  were  of  Roman  blood  and  speech,  the  other  that 
of  the  country  folk,  who  were  chiefly  of  British  blood,  and  pro- 
bably spoke  the  British  tongue.  _  3  The  Jutes,  Englc,  and 
Saxons,  who  together  are  known  as  Englishmen.  *  The 
Saxon  Chronicler.  5  In  this  battle  the  British  general 
Arthur,  repulsed  the  Saxons. 


8  PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Old  Sarura,  at  the  time  seated  on  a  commanding  eminence  ; 
and  vanquished  an  army  which  advanced  to  the  relief  of  the 
ci'.y.  In  a  subsequent  battle  near  Marlborough,  his  British 
enemies  displayed  their  military  science.  Their  troops  were 
formed  in  three  lines;  each  line  consisted  of  three  distinct 
bodies;  and  the  cavalry,  the  archers,  and  the  pikemen,  were 
distributed  according  to  the  principles  of  Roman  tactics. 
The  Saxons  charged  in  one  weighty  column,  boldly  en- 
countered with  their  short  swords  the  long  lances  of  the 
Britons,  and  maintained  an  equal  conflict  till  the  approach 
of  night.  Two  decisive  victories,  the  death  of  three  British 
kings,  and  the  reduction  of  Cirencester,  Bath,  and  Gloucester, 
established  the  fame  and  power  of  Ceaulin,  the  grandson 
of  Cerdic,  who  carried  his  victorious  arms  to  the  banks  of 
the  Severn. 

After  a  war  of  a  hundred  years,  the  independent  Britons 
still  occupied  the  whole  extent  of  the  western  coast,  from 
the  Firth  of  Clyde  to  the  extreme  promontory  of  Cornwall ; 
and  the  principal  cities  of  the  inland  country  still  opposed 
the  arms  of  the  barbarians.  Resistance  became  more 
languid  as  the  number  and  boldness  of  the  assailants  con- 
tinually increased.  Winning  their  way  by  slow  and  painful 
efforts,  the  Saxons,  the  Angles,  and  their  various  confederates, 
advanced  from  the  north,  from  the  east,  and  from  the  south, 
till  their  victorious  banners  were  united  in  the  centre  of  the 
island.  Beyond  the  Severn,  the  Britons  still  asserted  their 
national  freedom,  which  survived  the  heptarchy  and  even 
the  monarchy  of  the  Saxons.  The  bravest  warriors,  who 
preferred  exile  to  slavery,  found  a  secure  refuge  in  the 
mountains  of  Wales ; 6  the  reluctant  submission  of  Cornwall 
was  delayed  for  some  ages,7  and  a  band  of  fugitives  acquired 

6  South  Wales  was  reduced  by  Henry  the  First  ;  North  Wales 
re  tallied  its  freedom  till  the  time  of  Edward  the  First.  7  Its 

conquest  was  completed  in  the  tenth  century  by  King  jEthelstan. 


THE  ENGLISH  CONQUEST  OF  BRITAIN.  9 

a  settlement  in  Gaul,  by  their  own  valour  or  the  liberality 
of  the  Merovingian  kings.8  The  western  angle  of  Armorica9 
acquired  the  new  appellation  of  Cornwall  and  the  Lesser 
Britain  ;  and  the  vacant  lands  of  the  Osismii  were  filled  by 
a  strange  people,  who,  under  the  authority  of  their  counts 
and  bishops,  preserved  the  laws  and  language  of  their  an- 
cestors. To  the  feeble  descendants  of  Clovis  and  Charle- 
magne the  Britons  of  Armorica  refused  the  customary 
tribute,  subdued  the  neighbouring  dioceses  of  Vannes, 
Rennes,  and  Nantes,  and  formed  a  powerful  though  vassal 
state  which  has  been  united  to  the  crown  of  France. 

In  a  century  of  perpetual,  or  at  least  implacable  war, 
much  courage  and  some  skill  must  have  been  exerted  for 
the  defence  of  Britain.  Yet,  if  the  memory  of  its  champions 
is  almost  buried  in  oblivion,  we  need  not  repine  ;  since  every 
age,  however  destitute  of  science  or  virtue,  sufficiently 
abounds  with  acts  of  blood  and  military  renown.  The 
tomb  of  Vortimer,  the  son  of  Vortigern,10  was  erected  on  the 
margin  of  the  sea-shore  as  a  landmark  formidable  to  the 
Jutes,  whom  he  had  thrice  vanquished  in  the  fields  of  Kent. 
Ambrosius  Aurelianus  n  was  descended  from  a  noble  family 
of  Romans  ;  his  modesty  was  equal  to  his  valour,  and  his 
valour,  till  the  last  fatal  action,  was  crowned  with  splendid 
success.  But  every  British  name  is  effaced  by  the  illustrious 
name  of  Arthur,  the  hereditary  prince  of  the  Silures 12  in 
South  Wales,  and  the  elective  king  or  general  of  the  nation. 
According  to  the  most  rational  account,  he  defeated  in 
twelve  successive  battles  the   Angles  of  the  North,  and  the 

8  The  Merovings  or  Meerwings  were  the  royal  race  of  the 
Franks,  who  conquered  Caul.  9  Brittany.  I0   Vorti- 

gern was  the  leader  0/  the  Britons  in  their  resistance  to  Hengist. 
He  was  followed  in  this  by  his  son  Vortimer.  n  A  head 

of  the  Roman  or  townsfolk  party,  who  continued  the  struggle 
against  the  invaders.  12  More  probably  a  prince  oj 

Cornwall. 


io        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Saxons  of  the  West :  but  the  declining  age  of  the  hero  was  em- 
bittered by  popular  ingratitude  and  domestic  misfortunes. 

The  events  of  his  life  are  less  interesting  than  the  singular 
revolutions  of  his  fame.     During  a  period  of  five  hundred 
years  the  tradition  of  his  exploits  was  preserved  and  rudely 
embellished  by  the  obscure  bards  of  Wales  and  Brittany, 
who  were  odious  to  the  Saxons  and  unknown  to  the  rest  of 
mankind.      The  pride  and   curiosity  of  the  Norman  con- 
querors prompted  them  to  inquire  into  the  ancient  history 
of  Britain ;  they  listened  with  fond  credulity  to  the  tale  of 
Arthur,   and  eagerly  applauded  the  merit  of  a  prince  who 
had  triumphed  over  the  Saxons,   their   common  enemies. 
His  romance,  transcribed  in  the  Latin  of  Jeffrey  of  Mon- 
mouth, and  afterwards  translated  into  the  fashionable  idiom 
of  the  times,13  was  enriched  with  the  various,  though  inco- 
herent ornaments  which  were  familiar  to  the  experience,  the 
learning,  or  the  fancy  of  the  twelfth  century.     The  gallantry 
and  superstition  of  the  British  hero,  his  feasts  and  tourna- 
ments, and  the  memorable  institution  of  his  Knights  of  the 
Round   Table,    were    faithfully   copied   from    the   reigning 
manners   of  chivalry,  and  the  fabulous  exploits  of  Uther's 
son  appear  less  incredible  than  the  adventures  which  were 
achieved  by  the  enterprising  valour  of  the  Normans.     Pil- 
grimage and  the  holy  wars  u  introduced  into  Europe  the 
specious  miracles  of  Arabian  magic.      Fairies  and  giants, 
flying  dragons  and  enchanted  palaces,  were  blended   with 
the  more  simple  fictions  of  the  West ;  and  the  fate  of  Britain 
was  made   to   depend    on   the   art   or   the   predictions    of 
Merlin.15    Every  nation  embraced  and  adorned  the  popular 
romance  of  Arthur  and  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table  : 
their  names  were  celebrated  in  Greece  and  Italy,  and  the 

13  The  French  tongue.  M  The  Crusades.  15  Merlin 

was  fabled  to  be  a  great  enchanter  In  Arthur's  days,  whose  pro- 
phecies  were  held  in  honour  through  the  middle  ages. 


CONVERSION  OF  THE  ENGLISH  " 

voluminous  tales  of  Sir  Lancelot  and  Sir  Tristram  16  were 
devoutly  studied  by  the  princes  and  nobles,  who  disregarded 
the  genuine  heroes  and  historians  of  antiquity.  At  length 
the  light  of  science  and  reason  was  rekindled  j  the  talisman 
was  broken  ;  the  visionary  fabric  melted  into  air  j  and  by  a 
natural,  though  unjust,  reverse  of  the  public  opinion,  the 
severity  of  historic  criticism  came  to  question  the  existence 
of  Arthur. 


III. 

CONVERSION  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

FREEMAN. 

[The  fight  between  the  Britons  and  their  invaders  was  a 
long  and  stubborn  one ;  and  it  was  not  till  the  end  of  the 
sixth  century  that  the  eastern  half  of  Britain  had  become 
a  country  of  Englishmen.  But  these  Englishmen  were 
broken  up  into  many  separate  tribes,  and  were  far  from 
being  as  yet  a  single  people.  To  bring  about  their  union 
into  one  nation  was  the  work  of  many  hundred  years ; 
but  the  first  great  step  made  in  it  was  the  binding  all  the 
English  tribes  together  in  one  Christian  religion.  At  their 
conquest  they  had  been  heathen,  worshipping  Woden 
and  other  gods,  from  whom  they  believed  their  kings  to 
have  sprung,  and  thus  their  winning  of  Britain  had  driven 
Christianity  from  the  land.  But  Gregory  the  Great,  a 
bishop  of  Rome,  who  had  long  cherished  the  hope  of 
converting  them  at  last,  sent  a  band  of  missionaries  to 
Kent,  one  of  the  kingdoms  which  the  English  had  set  up  in 
in  Britain,  whose  King  ^Ethelberht  had  married  a  Christian 

16  Lancelot  and  Tristram  were  the  two  mast  famous  knights 
in  the  fabled  court  of  Arthur. 


12        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

wife.     Their  conversion  of  Kent  was  a  starting-point  for 
the  conversion  of  Britain.] 

Some  time  before  Gregory  became  Pope,  perhaps  about 
the  year  574,  he  went  one  day  through  the  market  at  Rome, 
where,  among  other  things,  there  were  still  men,  women, 
and  children  to  be  sold  as  slaves.     He  there  saw  some 
beautiful   boys    who    had   just  been   brought   by   a   slave- 
merchant,    boys  with   a   fair   skin    and    long   fair   hair,   as 
English  boys  then  would  have.     He  asked  from  what  part 
of  the  world  they  came,  and  whether  they  were  Christians 
or  heathens.      He  was  told  that  they  were   heathen  boys 
from  the  Isle  of  Britain.     Gregory  was  sorry  to  think  that 
forms  which   were  so   fair   without   should   have   no   light 
within,   and   he  asked   again   what  was  the  name  of  their 
nation.     "  Angles"  x  he  was  told.      "  Angles"  said  Gregory ; 
"they  have  the  faces  of  Angels,  and  they  ought  to  be  made 
fellow-heirs  of  the  Angels  in  heaven.     But  of  what  province 
or  tribe  of  the  Angles  are  they?"     "Of  Z>eira,"2  said  the 
merchant.     "  De  ira  /"  3  said  Gregory  :  "  then  they  must  be 
delivered  from  the  wrath  of  God.     And  what  is  the  name 
of  their  King?"     "./Ella."      " jElla ;   then  Alleluia  shall 
be  sung   in   his   land."      Gregory  then  went  to  the  Pope, 
and  asked  him  to  send  missionaries  into  Britain,  of  whom 
he   himself  would  be  one,  to  convert  the   English.     The 
Pope  was  willing,  but  the  people  of  Rome,  among  whom 
Gregory  was  a  priest  and  was  much  beloved,   would  not 
let  him  go.     So  nothing  came  of  the  matter  for  some  while. 
We  do  not  know  whether  Gregory  was  able  to  do  any- 
thing for  the  poor  little  English  boys  whom  he  saw  in  the 
market,  but  he  certainly  never  forgot  his  plan  for  converting 
the  English  people.     After  a  while  he  became  Pope  him- 

1  "Angles"  is  the  same  word  with  our  present  word  "  English- 
men." *  Deira  was  our  present  Yorkshire.  3  "  Dt 
ird"  in  Latin  means  "from  the  wrath.'" 


CONVERSION  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  13 

self.     Of  course  he  now   no   longer  thought  of  going  into 
Britain  himself,  as  he  had  enough  to  do  at  Rome.     But  he 
now  had  power  to  send  others.     He  therefore  presently  sent 
a  company  of  monks,  with  one    called  Augustine  at    their 
head,  who  became  the  first  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and 
is  called  the  Apostle  of  the   English.     This  was  in   597. 
The  most  powerful  king  in  Britain  at  that  time  was  ^Ethel- 
berht  of  Kent,  who  is  said  to  have  been  lord  over  all  the 
kings  south  of  the   H umber.      This  ^Ethelberht  had  done 
what   was    very    seldom   done    by    English    kings    then   or 
for  a  long  time  after  :  he  had  married  a   foreign  wife,  the 
daughter  of  Chariberht,  one  of  the  kings  of  the  Franks  in 
Gaul.4     Now  the  Franks  had  become  Christians  ;  so  when 
the    Frankish    Queen    came    over    to    Kent,     /Ethelberht 
promised  that  she  should  be  allowed  to  keep  to  her  own 
religion  without  let   or   hindrance.     She   brought   with   her 
therefore    a    Frankish    Bishop   named    Liudhard,    and    the 
Queen  and  her   Bishop    used    to    worship   God  in  a   little 
church  near  Canterbury  called  Saint   Martin's,   which    had 
been  built  in    the    Roman  times.     So   you  see  that   both 
^Ethelberht  and    his   people  must  have  known  something 
about  the  Christian  faith  before  Augustine  came.     It  does 
not,  however,  seem  that  either  the  King  or  any  of  his  people 
had  at  all  thought  of  turning  Christians.    This  seems  strange 
when  one  reads  how  easily  they  were  converted  afterwards. 
One   would    have    thought    that    Bishop    Liudhard    would 
have  been  more  likely  to  convert  them  than  Augustine,  for, 
being  a  Frank,  he  would  speak  a  tongue  not  very  different 
from  English,  while  Augustine  spoke  Latin,  and,  if  he  ever 
knew  English  at  all,  he  must  have  learned  it  after  he  came 
into  the  island.     I  cannot  tell  you  for  certain  why  this  was. 
Perhaps  they  did  not  think  that  a  man  who  had    merely 

4   The  Franks  hod  conquered  Roman  Gaul  as  the  English  haa 
conquocd  Roman  Britain. 


M       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

come  in  the  Queen's  train  was  so  well  worth  listening  to  as 
one  who  had  come  on  purpose  all  the  way  from  the  great 
city  of  Rome,  to  which  all  the  West  still  looked  up  as  the 
capital  of  the  world. 

So  Augustine  and  his  companions  set  out  from  Rome, 
and  passed  through  Gaul,5  and  came  into  Britain,  even  as 
Caesar  had  done  ages  before.  But  this  time  Rome  had 
sent  forth  men  not  to  conquer  lands,  but  to  win  souls. 
They  landed  first  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet,  which  joins  close 
to  the  east  part  of  Kent,  and  thence  they  sent  a  message 
to  King  ^Ethelberht  saying  why  they  had  come  into  his  land. 
The  King  sent  word  back  to  them  to  stay  in  the  isle  till  he 
had  fully  made  up  his  mind  how  to  treat  them;  and  he 
gave  orders  that  they  should  be  well  taken  care  of  mean- 
while. After  a  little  while  he  came  himself  into  the  isle, 
and  bade  them  come  and  tell  him  what  they  had  to  say. 
He  met  them  in  the  open  air,  for  he  would  not  meet  them 
in  a  house,  as  he  thought  they  might  be  wizards,  and  that 
they  might  use  some  charm  or  spell,  which  he  thought 
would  have  less  power  out  of  doors.  So  they  came,  carry- 
ing an  image  of  our  Lord  on  the  Cross  wrought  in  silver, 
and  singing  litanies  as  they  came.  And  when  they  came 
before  the  King,  they  preached  the  Gospel  to  him  and  to 
those  who  were  with  him,  telling  them,  no  doubt,  how  there 
was  one  God,  who  had  made  all  things,  and  how  He  had 
sent  His  Son  Jesus  Christ  to  die  upon  the  cross  for  man- 
kind, and  how  He  would  come  again  at  the  end  of  the 
world  to  judge  the  quick  and  the  dead. 

So  King  ^Ethelberht  hearkened  to  them,  and  he  made 
answer  like  a  good  and  wise  man.  "Your  words  and  pro- 
mises," said  he,  "  sound  very  good  unto  me ;  but  they  are 
new  and  strange,  and  I  cannot  believe  them  all  at  once, 
nor  can  I  leave  all  that  I  and  my  fathers  and  the  whole 

5  Caul  here  means  modern  France. 


CADMON  AND  EARLY  ENGLISH  POETRY.  15 

English  folk  have  believed  so  long.  P>ut  I  see  that  ye 
have  come  from  a  far  country  to  tell  us  that  which  ye 
yourselves  hold  for  truth ;  so  ye  may  stay  in  the  land, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  house  to  dwell  in  and  food  to 
eat ;  and  ye  may  preach  to  my  folk,  and  if  any  man  of 
them  will  believe  as  ye  believe,  I  hinder  him  not."  So 
he  gave  them  a  house  to  dwell  in  in  the  royal  city  of 
Canterbury,  and  he  let  them  preach  to  the  people.  And,  as 
they  drew  near  to  the  city,  they  carried  their  silver  image  of 
the  Lord  Jesus,  and  sang  litanies,  saying,  "  We  pray  Thee, 
O  Lord,  let  Thy  anger  and  Thy  wrath  be  turned  away  from 
this  city,  and  from  Thy  holy  house,  because  we  have  sinned. 
Alleluia  1  "  Thus  Augustine  and  his  companions  dwelt  at 
Canterbury,  and  worshipped  in  the  old  church  where  the 
Queen  worshipped,  and  preached  to  the  men  of  the  land. 
And  many  men  hearkened  to  them  and  were  baptized,  and 
before  long  King  ^Ethelberht  himself  believed  and  was 
baptized  ;  and  before  the  year  was  out  there  were  added 
to  the  Church  more  than  ten  thousand  souls. 


IV. 

CADMON  AND  EARLY  ENGLISH  POETRY. 
STOPFORD    BROOKE. 

[The  work  of  conversion  which  began  in  Kent  spread  over 
Britain  ;  and  before  another  hundred  years  had  passed 
every  English  kingdom  had  become  Christian.  With 
Christianity  returned  much  of  that  older  knowledge  and 
learning  which  had  been  driven  from  the  land  by  the 
English  conquest.  Schools  were  set  up  ;  and  Englishmen 
at  last  began  to  write  both  in  Latin  and  in  their  owu 
1 


TKOSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY 

tongue.  The  earliest  and  noblest  of  these  earlier  writings 
were  poems  ;  and  at  the  head  of  them  stand  the  story  of 
Beowulf,  and  Cadmon's  Paraphrase  of  the  Bible.  The 
first  is  the  story  of  the  deeds  and  death  of  a  hero  named 
Beowulf,  which  seems  to  have  been  brought  into  England 
from  some  Danish  land,  and  to  have  been  translated  or 
re-written  by  some  Christian  poet  of  Northumbria.  Thus 
Beowulf  can  hardly  be  looked  upon  as  a  true  English 
poem.  The  first  true  English  poem  is  that  of  Cadmon, 
which  was  also  of  Northumbrian  origin.] 

The  story  of  Cadmon,  as  told  by  Baeda,1  proves  that  the 
making  of  songs  was  common  at  the  time.  Cadmon  was  a 
servant  to  the  monastery  of  Hild,  an  abbess  of  royal  blood, 
at  Whitby  in  Yorkshire.  He  was  somewhat  aged  when  the 
gift  of  song  came  to  him,  and  he  knew  nothing  of  the  art 
of  verse,  so  that  at  the  feasts  when  for  the  sake  of  mirth  all 
sang  in  turn  he  left  the  table.  One  night,  having  done  so, 
and  gone  to  the  stables,  for  he  had  care  of  the  cattle,  he  fell 
asleep,  and  one  came  to  him  in  vision  and  said,  "Cadmon, 
sing  me  some  song."  And  he  answered,  "  I  cannot  sing  ;  for 
this  cause  I  left  the  feast  and  came  hither."  Then  said  the 
other,  "  However,  you  shall  sing."  "What  shall  I  sing?" 
he  replied.  "  Sing  the  beginning  of  created  things,"  answered 
the  other.  Whereupon  he  began  to  sing  verses  to  the  praise 
of  God,  and,  awaking,  remembered  what  he  had  sung,  and 
added  more  in  verse  worthy  of  God.  In  the  morning  he 
came  to  the  steward,  and  told  him  of  the  gift  he  had  re- 
ceived;  and  being  brought  to  Hild,  was  ordered  to  tell  his 
dream  before  learned  men,  that  they  might  give  judgment 
whence  his  verses  came.  And  when  they  had  heard,  they 
all  said  that  heavenly  grace  had  been  conferred  on  him  by 
our  Lord. 

Cadmon's  Poem,  written  about  670,  is  for  us  the  beginning 

1   Bada  was  the  first  English  historian. 


CADMON  AND  EARLY  ENGLISH  POETRY.     17 

of  English  poetry,  and  the  story  of  its  origin  ought  to  be 
loved  by  us.  Nor  should  we  fail  to  reverence  the  place 
where  it  began.  Above  the  small  and  land-locked  harbour 
of  Whitby  rises  and  juts  out  towards  the  sea  the  dark  cliff 
where  Hild's  monastery  stood,  looking  out  over  the  German 
Ocean.  It  is  a  wild,  wind-swept  upland,  and  the  sea  beats 
furiously  beneath,  and  standing  there  one  feels  that  it  is  a 
fitting  birthplace  for  the  poetry  of  the  sea-ruling  nation. 
Nor  is  the  verse  of  the  first  poet  without  the  stormy  note  of  the 
scenery  among  which  it  was  written.  In  it  the  old  fierce  war 
element  is  felt  when  Cadmon  comes  to  sing  the  wrath  of  the 
rebel  angels  with  God,  and  the  overthrow  of  Pharaoh's  host, 
and  the  lines,  repeating,  as  was  the  old  English  way,  the 
thought  a  second  time,  fall  like  stroke  on  stroke  in  battle. 
But  the  poem  is  religious  throughout.  Christianity  speaks 
in  it  simply,  sternly,  with  fire,  and  brings  with  it  a  new 
world  of  spiritual  romance  and  L-eling.  The  subjects  of  the 
poem  were  taken  from  the  Bible;  in  fact  Cadmon  para- 
phrased the  history  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament.  He 
s.mg  the  creation  of  the  world,  the  history  of  Israel,  the 
book  of  Daniel,  the  whole  story  of  the  life  of  Christ,  future 
judgment,  purgatory,  hell  and  heaven.  All  who  heard  it 
thought  it  divinely  given.  "Others  after  him,"  says  Baeda, 
"  tried  to  make  religious  poems,  but  none  could  vie  with 
him,  for  he  did  not  learn  the  art  of  poetry  from  men,  nor  of 
men,  but  from  God."  It  was  thus  that  English  song  began 
in  religion.  The  most  famous  passage  of  the  poem  not  only 
illustrates  the  dark  sadness,  the  fierce  love  of  freedom,  and 
the  power  of  painting  distinct  characters,  which  has  always 
marked  our  poetry,  but  it  is  also  famous  for  its  likeness  to  a 
parallel  passage  in  Milton.  It  is  when  Cadmon  describes 
the  proud  and  angry  cry  of  Satan  against  God  from  his  bed 
of  chains  in  hell.  The  two  great  English  poets  may  be 
brought  together  over  a  space  of  a  thousand  years  in  anothei 


fg         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

way,  for  both  died  in  such  peace  that  those  who  watched 
beside  them  knew  not  when  they  died. 

Of  the  poetry  that  came  after  Cadmon  we  have  few  re- 
mains.    But  we  have  many  things  said  which  show  us  that 
his  poem,  like  all  great  works,  gave  birth  to  a  number  of 
similar  ones.     The  increase  of  monasteries,  where  men  of 
letters  lived,   naturally  made  the  written   poetry  religious. 
But  an  immense  quantity  of  secular  poetry  was  sung  about 
the  country.     Aldhelm,  a  young  man  when  Cadmon  died, 
and  afterwards  Abbot  of  Malmesbury,  united  the  song-maker 
to  the  religious  poet.     He  was  a  skilled  musician,  and  it  is 
said  that  he  had  not  his  equal  in  the  making  or  singing  of 
English  verse.     His  songs  were  popular  in  King  Alfred's 
time,  and  a  pretty  story  tells  that  when  the  traders  came 
into  the  town  on  the  Sunday,  he,  in  the  character  of  a  glee- 
man,2  stood  on  the  bridge  and  sang  them  songs,  with  which 
he  mixed  up  Scripture  texts  and  teaching.     Of  all  this  wide- 
spread poetry  we  have  now  only  the  few  poems  brought 
together  in  a  book  preserved  at  Exeter,  in  another  found  at 
Vercelli,  and  in  a  few  leaflets  of  manuscripts.     The  poems 
in  the  Vercelli  book  are  all  religious  :  legends  of  saints  and 
addresses  to  the  soul ;  those  in  the  Exeter  book  are  hymns 
and  sacred   poems.      The    famous    Traveller's    Song,    and 
the    Lament    of  Deor  inserted  in  it,  are  of  the  older  and 
pagan  time.     In  both  there  are  poems  by  Cynewulf,  whose 
work  is  remarkably  fine.     They  are  all  Christian  in  tone. 
The  few  touches  of  love  of  nature  in  them  dwell  on  gentle, 
not  on  savage  scenery.    They  are  sorrowful  when  they  speak 
of  the  life  of  men,  tender  when  they  touch  on  the  love  of 
home,  as  tender  as  this  little  bit  which  still  lives  for  us  out 
of  that  old  world  :    "  Dear  is  the  welcome  guest   to  the 
Frisian  wife  when  the  vessel  strands  ;  his  ship  is  come,  and 

2  A  minstrel. 


ALFRED  AT  ATHELNEY.  IQ 

her  husband  to  his  house,  her  own  provider.  And  she 
welcomes  him  in,  washes  his  weedy  garment,  and  clothes  him 
anew.  It  is  pleasant  on  shore  to  him  whom  his  love  awaits." 
( >f  these  scattered  pieces  the  finest  are  two  fragments,  one 
long,  on  the  story  of  Judith,  and  another  short,  in  which 
Death  speaks  to  Man,  and  describes  "the  low  and  hateful, 
and  doorless  house,"  of  which  he  keeps  the  key.  But 
stern  as  the  fragment  is,  with  its  English  manner  of  looking 
dreadful  things  in  the  face,  and  with  its  English  pathos,  the 
religious  poetry  of  our  old  fathers  always  went  with  faith  be- 
yond the  grave.  Thus  we  are  told  that  King  Eadgar,  in  the 
ode  on  his  death  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle,  "  chose  for 
himself  another  light,  beautiful  and  pleasant,  and  left  this 
feeble  life." 


V. 

ALFRED  AT  ATHELNEY. 

LINGARD. 

[Important  as  was  this  revival  of  learning,  Christianity 
brought  with  it  a  yet  more  important  result  in  furthering 
the  union  of  the  small  English  tribes  into  a  single  English 
kingdom.  After  long  struggles  this  was  brought  about  by 
Ecgberht,'  King  of  the  West-Saxons,  who  conquered  the 
other  English  peoples,  and  brought  all  of  them  under  his 
rule.  But  his  work  was  soon  undone.  Sea-rovers  from  the 
Scandinavian  lands,  called  the  Danes,  at  this  time  attacked 
all  the  western  countries  of  Europe  ;  and  their  heaviest 
attack  fell  on  Britain.  They  conquered  all  the  northern, 
eastern,  and  central  parts  of  the  country  ;  and  not  only 
broke  the  rule  of  the  West-Saxon  kings  over  them,  but  at 
last  fell  upon  the  West-Saxons  themselves.  Alfred,  the 
West-Saxon  king,  for  a  time  held  them  bravely  at  bay,  but 
a  sudden  surprise  made  them  masters  of  his  country,  and 
drove  him  for  a  while  to  the  marshes  of  Athelney.] 


2o        PROSE  READINGS   FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

GUTHRUM  '  had  fixed  his  residence  at  Gloucester,  and  re- 
warded the  services  of  his  veterans  by  dividing  among  them 
the  lands  in  the  neignbourhood.  But  while  this  peaceful 
occupation  seemed  to  absorb  his  attention,  his  mind  was 
actively  employed  in  arranging  a  plan  of  warfare,  which 
threatened  to  extinguish  the  last  of  the  Saxon  governments 
in  Britain.  A  winter  campaign  had  hitherto  been  unknown 
in  the  annals  of  Danish  devastation  ;  after  their  summer 
expeditions  the  invaders  had  always  devoted  the  succeeding 
months  to  festivity  and  repose,  and  it  is  probable  that  the 
followers  of  Guthrum  were  as  ignorant  as  the  Saxons  of  the 
real  design  of  their  leader.  On  the  first  day  of  the  year  878 
they  received  an  unexpected  summons  to  meet  him  on 
horseback  at  an  appointed  place ;  on  the  night  of  the  6th  of 
January  they  were  in  possession  of  Chippenham,  a  royal  villa 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  Avon.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that 
Alfred  was  in  the  place  when  the  alarm  was  given  ;  it  is 
certain  that  he  could  not  be  at  any  great  distance.  .From 
Chippenham,  Guthrum  dispersed  his  cavalry  in  different 
directions  over  the  neighbouring  counties  ;  the  Saxons  were 
surprised  by  the  enemy  before  they  had  heard  of  the  war ; 
and  the  king  saw  himself  surrounded  by  the  baroarians, 
without  horses,  and  almost  without  attendants.  At  first  he 
conceived  the  rash  design  of  rushing  on  the  multitude  of  his 
enemies;  but  his  temerity  was  restrained  by  the  more  con- 
siderate suggestions  of  his  friends  ;  and  he  consented  to 
reserve  himself  for  a  less  dangerous  and  more  hopeful  ex 
peritnent.  To  elude  suspicion  he  dismissed  the  few  thanes  2 
who  were  still  near  his  person,  and  endeavoured  alone  and 
on  foot  to  gain  the  centre  of  Somersetshire.  There  he  found 
a  secure  retreat  in  a  small  island  situated  in  a  morass  formed 

1   The  leader  of  the  Danes  who  attacked  IVessex.  -  Thanes 

were  nobles  who  held  land  from  the  king  on  condition  of  serving 
him  in  war. 


ALFRED  AT  ATHELNEY.  2r 

by  the  conflux  of  the  Tone  and  the  Parrel,  which  was  after- 
wards distinguished  by  the  name  of  Ethelingey,  or  Prince's 

Island. 

Though  the  escape  of  Alfred  had  disappointed  the  ho; 
of  the  Danes,  they  followed  up  their  success  with  indefatig- 
able activity.  The  men  of  Hampshire,  Dorset,  Wilts,  and 
Berkshire,  separated  from  each  other,  ignorant  of  the  fate  of 
their  prince,  and  unprepared  for  any  rational  system  of  de- 
fence, saw  themselves  compelled  to  crouch  beneath  the  storm. 
Those  who  dwelt  near  the  coast  crossed  with  their  families 
and  treasure  to  the  opposite  shores  of  Gaul  ;  the  others 
sought  to  mitigate  by  submission  the  ferocity  of  the  invader-:, 
and  by  the  surrender  of  a  part  to  preserve  the  remainder  of 
their  property.  One  county  alone,  that  of  Somerset,  is  said 
to  have  continued  faithful  to  the  fortunes  of  Alfred;  and  yet 
in  the  county  of  Somerset  he  was  compelled  to  conceal 
himself  at  Ethelingey,  while  the  ealdorman  3  ^Ethelnoth  with 
a  few  adherents  wandered  in  the  woods.  By  degrees  the 
secret  of  the  royal  retreat  was  revealed ;  Alfred  was  joined 
by  die  more  trusty  of  his  subjects  ;  and  in  their  company 
he  occasionally  issued  from  his  concealment,  intercepted  the 
straggling  parties  of  the  Danes,  and  returned,  loaded  with 
the  spoils,  often  of  the  enemy,  sometimes  (such  was  his  hard 
necessity)  of  his  own  people.  As  his  associates  multiplied, 
these  excursions  were  more  frequent  and  successful ;  and  at 
Easter,  to  facilitate  the  access  to  the  island,  he  ordered  a 
communication  to  be  made  with  the  land  by  a  wooden 
bridge,  of  which  he  secured  the  entrance  by  the  erection 
of  a  fort. 

While  the  attention  of  Alfred  was  thus  fixed  on  the  enemy 
who  had  seized  the  eastern  provinces  of  his  kingdom,  he 
was  unconscious  of  the  storm  which  threatened   to  burst  on 

3  .-//.'  ealdorman  ivas  the  chief  officer  of  a  province  or  shire 
undo  the  king. 


22         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

him  from  the  west.  Another  of  the  sons  of  Ragnar,4  pro- 
bably the  sanguinary  Ubbo,  with  three-and-twenty  sail,  had 
lately  ravaged  the  shores  of  South  Wales  ;  and,  crossing  to  the 
northern  coast  of  Devonshire,  had  landed  his  troops  in  the 
vicinity  of  Apledore.  It  appears  as  if  the  two  brothers  had 
previously  agreed  to  crush  the  king  between  the  pressure  of 
their  respective  armies.  Alarmed  at  this  new  debarkation, 
Odun  the  ealdorman,  with  several  thanes  fled  for  security  to 
the  castle  of  Kynwith.  It  had  no  other  fortification  than  a 
loose  wall  erected  after  the  manner  of  the  Britons ;  but  its 
position  on  the  summit  of  a  lofty  rock  rendered  it  impreg- 
nable. The  Danish  leader  was  too  wary  to  hazard  an  assault ; 
and  calmly  pitched  his  tent  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
in  the  confident  expectation  that  the  want  of  water  would 
force  the  garrison  to  surrender.  But  Odun,  gathering  cou- 
rage from  despair,  silently  left  his  entrenchments  at  the  dawn 
of  morning,  burst  into  the  enemy's  camp,  slew  the  Danish 
chief  with  twelve  hundred  of  his  followers,  and  drove  the 
remainder  to  their  fleet.  The  bravery  of  the  Saxons  was 
rewarded  with  the  plunder  of  Wales  ;  and  among  the  trophies 
of  their  victory  was  the  Reafan,  the  mysterious  Standard  of 
the  Raven,  woven  in  one  noon-tide  by  the  hands  of  the  three 
daughters  of  Ragnar.  The  superstition  of  the  Danes  was 
accuslomed  to  observe  the  bird  as  they  marched  to  battle. 
If  it  appeared  to  flap  its  wings,  it  was  a  sure  omen  of  victory  ; 
if  it  hung  motionless  in  the  air,  they  anticipated  nothing  but 
defeat. 

The  news  of  this  success  infused  courage  into  the  hearts 
of  the  most  pusillanimous.  Alfred  watched  the  reviving 
spirit  of  his  people,  and  by  trusty  messengers  invited  them 
to  meet  him  in  the  seventh  week  after  Easter  at  the  stone  of 

4  Ragnar  was  a  Danish  hero,  who  was  said  to  have  been  slain 
in  England)  and  whose  sons  swore  to  avenge  his  death  by  con- 
oue>  ing  the  island.    Gu thrum  was  one  of  these  sons,  Ubbo  another 


ALFRED  AT  ATIIELNEV.  21 

Egbert,   in  the  eastern  extremity  of  Selwood 8  fores:.     On 
the  appointed  day  the  men  of  Hampshire,   Wiltshire,  and 

Somerset  cheerfully  obeyed  the  summons.  At  the  appear- 
ance of  Allied  they  hailed  the  avenger  of  their  country  ; 
the  wood  echoed  their  acclamations  ;  and  every  heart  beat 
with  the  confidence  of  victory.  But  the  place  was  too 
confined  to  receive  the  multitudes  that  hastened  to  the 
royal  standard ;  and  the  next  morning  the  camp  was  re 
moved  to  Icglea,  a  spacious  plain  lying  on  the  skirts  of  the 
wood,  and  covered  by  marshes  in  its  front.  The  day  was 
spent  in  making  preparations  for  the  conflict,  and  in  assign- 
ing their  places  to  the  volunteers  that  hourly  arrived ;  at 
the  dawn  of  the  next  morning  Alfred  marshalled  his  forces, 
and  occupied  the  summit  of  Ethandune,  a  neighbouring  and 
lofty  eminence. 

In  the  meanwhile  Guthrum  had  not  been  an  idle  spectator 
of  the  motions  of  his  adversary.  He  had  recalled  his  scat- 
tered detachments,  and  was  advancing  with  hasty  steps  to 
chastise  the  insolence  of  the  insurgents.  As  the  armies  met 
they  vociferated  shouts  of  mutual  defiance ;  and  after  the 
discharge  of  their  missive  weapons,  rushed  to  a  closer  and 
more  sanguinary  combat.  The  shock  of  the  two  nations, 
the  efforts  of  their  leaders,  the  fluctuations  of  victory,  and 
the  alternate  hopes  and  fears  of  the  contending  armies, 
must  be  left  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader.  The  Danes 
displayed  a  courage  worthy  of  their  former  renown  and 
their  repeated  conquests.  The  Saxons  were  stimulated  by 
every  motive  that  could  influence  the  heart  of  man.  Shame, 
revenge,  the  dread  of  subjugation,  and  the  hope  of  inde- 
pendence, impelled  them  forward  :  their  perseverance  bore 
down  all  opposition  ;  and  the  Northmen,'  after  a  most  obsti- 
nate but  unavailing  resistance,  fled  in  crowds  to  their  camp, 

6  The  great  forest  0/  Selwood  ran  along  the  volley  oj  the 
Frame  and  by  Dors,  t  to  the  .sea. 
2* 


24         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

The  pursuit  was  not  less  murderous  than  the  engagement 
the  Saxons  immolated  to  their  resentment  every  fugitive  who 
fell  into  their  hands.     Immediately,  by   the   king's  orders, 
lines  were  drawn  round  the  encampment  ;  and  the  escape 
of  the  survivors  was  rendered  impracticable  by  the  vigilance 
ami  the  multitude  of  their  enemies.     Famine  and  despair 
subdued  the  obstinacy  of  Guthrum,  who  on  the  fourteenth 
day  offered  to  capitulate.     The  terms  imposed  by  the  con- 
queror were  :  that  the  king  and  principal  chieftains  should 
embrace    Christianity  ;  that  they  should   entirely    evacuate 
his  dominions  ;  and  that   they  should  bind   themselves  to 
the  fulfilment  of  the  treaty  by  the  surrender  of  hostages,  and 
by  their  oaths.     After  a  few  weeks,  Guthrum,  with  thirty  of 
his    officers,    was    baptized  at  Aulre,   near    Athelney.      He 
took  the  surname  of  Athelstan,  and  Alfred  was  his  sponsor. 
After    the  ceremony  both    princes   removed  to   Wedmore, 
where  on    the  eighth  day  Guthrum  put  off  the  white  robe 
and   chrysmal  fillet,  and  on  the  twelfth  bade  adieu   to  his 
adopted  father,  whose  generosity  he    had   now  learned  to 
admire  as  much  as  he  had  before  respected  his  valour 


VI. 


ALFRED    AND  HIS   BOOKS. 
PALGRAVE. 


[The  triumph  over  Guthrum  secured  Wessex,  or  southern 
England,  from  the  Danes ;  and  gave  Alfred  leisure  to 
prepare  for  the  re-conquest  of  the  rest  of  the  country. 
For  this  purpose  he  steadily  got  ready  a  new  fleet  and 
army,     liut  he  did  more  to  gather  England  round  him 


ALFRED  AND  HIS   BOOKS.  26 

by  showing  in  himself  what  a  true  and  noble  king  should 
be,  by  living  uprightly  and  ruling  justly;  and  by  doing 
what  he  could  to  restore  to  England  the  law  and  good 
government  which  seemed  to  have  perished  in  the  troubles 
of  the  time.  Not  less  earnestly  did  he  strive  to  restore 
learning,  which  had  suffered  most  of  all ;  and  in  the  face 
of  overwhelming  difficulties  he  did  so  much,  both  by 
himself  and  through  other  scholars,  that  as  English  poetry 
is  said  to  begin  with  Cadmon,  so  English  prose  looks  back 
for  its  beginning  to  Alfred.] 

Alfred  was  wholly  ignorant  of  letters  until  he  attained 
twelve  years  of  age.  He  was  greatly  loved  by  his  parents, 
who  fondled  the  boy  for  his  beauty ;  but  that  instruction 
which  the  poorest  child  can  now  acquire  with  the  greatest 
ease  was  withheld  from  the  son  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  king. 
Alfred  was  taught  to  wind  the  horn  and  to  bend  the  bow, 
to  hunt  and  to  hawk  ;  and  he  acquired  great  skill  in  the  art 
of  the  chase,  considered  throughout  the  middle  ages  as  the 
most  necessary  accomplishment  of  the  nobility,  whilst  book- 
learning  was  thought  of  little  use  lo  them.  Alfred's  eager 
mind  did  not,  however,  remain  unemployed.  Though  he 
could  not  read  he  could  attend  and  he  listened  eagerly  to 
the  verses  which  were  recited  in  his  father's  hall  by  the 
minstrels  and  the  gleemen,  the  masters  of  Anglo-Saxon 
song.  Day  and  night  would  he  employ  in  hearkening  to 
these  poems  ;  he  treasured  them  in  his  memory,  and  during 
the  whole  of  his  life,  poetry  continued  to  be  his  solace  and 
amusement  in  trouble  and  care. 

It  chanced  one  clay  that  Alfred's  mother,  Osburgha, 
showed  to  him  and  his  brothers  a  volume  of  Anglo-Saxon 
poetry  which  she  possessed.  "  He  who  first  can  read  the 
book  shall  have  it."  said  she.  Alfred's  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  the  bright  gilding  and  colouring  of  one  of  the 
illuminated  capital  letters.  He  was  delighted  with  the  gay 
volume,  and  enquired  of  his  mother,— would  she  r.ahy  keep 


20         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

her  word  ?  She  confirmed  the  promise,  and  put  the  book 
into  his  hands ;  and  he  applied  so  steadily  to  his  task,  that 
the  book  became  his  own. 

The  information  which  Alfred  now  possessed  rendered 
him  extremely  desirous  of  obtaining  more;  but  his  ignorance 
of  Latin  was  an  insuperable  obstacle.  Science  and  know- 
ledge could  not  then  be  acquired  otherwise  than  from  Latin 
books  ;  and  earnestly  as  he  sought  for  instruction  in  that 
language,  none  could  be  found.  Sloth  had  overspread  the 
land ; ]  and  there  were  so  few  "  Grammarians,"  that  is  to  say 
Latinists,  in  Wessex,  that  he  was  utterly  unable  to  discover 
a  competent  teacher.  In  after  life,  Alfred  was  accustomed 
to  say,  that  of  all  the  hardships,  privations,  and  misfortunes 
which  had  befallen  him,  there  was  none  which  he  felt  so 
grievous  as  this,  the  enforced  idleness  of  his  youth,  when 
his  intellect  would  have  been  fitted  to  receive  the  lesson, 
and  his  time  was  unoccupied.  At  a  more  advanced  period, 
the  arduous  toils  of  royalty,  and  the  pressure  of  most  severe 
and  unintermitting  pain,  interrupted  the  studies  which  he 
was  then  enabled  to  pursue,  and  harassed  and  disturbed  his 
mind, — yet  he  persevered  ; — and  the  unquenchable  thirst  for 
knowledge  which  the  child  had  manifested,  continued,  with- 
out abatement,  until  he  was  removed  from  this  stage  of 
exertion.  When  the  Treaty  of  Wedmore  freed  him  from  the 
Danes,  Alfred's  plans  for  the  intellectual  cultivation  of  his 
country  were  directed,  in  the  first  instance,  to  the  diffusion 
of  knowledge  amongst  the  great  body  of  the  people.  Hence 
he  earnestly  recommended  the  translation  "of  useful  books 
into  the  language  which  we  all  understand ;  so  that  all  the 
youth  of  England,  but  more  especially  those  who  are  of 
gentle-kind  and  at  ease  in  their  circumstances,  may  be 
grounded  in  letters, — for  they  cannot  profit  in  any  pursuit 

1  Or    rather,    the    war    with    the   Danes    had    discouraged 
learning. 


ALFRED  AND  HIS  BOOKS.  27 

until  they  arc  well  able  to  read  English."  This  opinion  is 
extracted  from  a  document  appearing  to  have  been  a  circular 
letter  addressed  by  Allied  to  the  Bishops  j  and  the  desire 
which  it  expresses  is  the  best  proof  of  the  sincerity  of  his 
intentions,  and  the  grasp  and  comprehensiveness  of  his 
mind.  Much  had  been  done  on  the  Continent  for  the  culti- 
vation of  learning,  particularly  by  Charlemagne ;  but  the 
munificence  of  the  Prankish  emperor,  and  of  those  who 
thought  like  him,  was  calculated  to  confine  the  gift  within 
the  pale  of  the  cloister.  The  general  tendency  of  the 
middle  ages  was  to  centre  all  erudition  in  a  particular  caste, 
severed  from  the  rest  of  society.  Alfred's  labours,  on  the 
contrary,  were  directed  to  enable  every  individual  to  have  a 
share,  according  to  his  station  and  degree,  in  the  common 
inheritance  of  wisdom 

Alfred  taught  himself  Latin  by  translating.  You  will 
recollect  his  regret  at  the  want  of  masters  in  early  life.  As 
soon  as  he  was  settled  in  his  kingdom  he  attempted  to 
supply  this  deficiency,  not  only  for  himself,  but  also  for  his 
people,  by  inviting  learned  men  from  foreign  parts.  Asser, 
a  native  of  St.  David's,  whom  he  appointed  Bishop  of 
Sherbourne,  was  one  of  them.  Great  confidence  and  friend- 
ship prevailed  between  Alfred  and  the  British  priest ;  and 
to  the  pen  of  Asser  we  owe  a  biography  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
monarch,  written  with  equal  simplicity  and  fidelity.  Grim- 
bald,  at  the  invitation  of  Alfred,  left  Gaul,  his  own  country, 
and  settled  in  England.  A  third  celebrated  foreigner  was 
called  Johannes  Scotus,  from  his  nation,  or  Eri^ena,  the 
Irishman,  from  the  place  of  his  birth.  From  these  dis- 
tinguished men,  to  whom  must  be  added  Plegmund,  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  Alfred  was  enabled  to  acquire  that 
learning  which  he  had  so  long  sought.  Asser  permits  us  to 
contemplate  Alfred  beginning  his  literary  labours.  They 
were  engaged   in   pleasant  converse ;    and  it  chanced  that 


PROSE  READINGS   FROM   ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

Asscr  quoted  a  text  or  passage,  either  from  the  Bible  or 
from  the  works  of  some  of  the  Fathers.  Alfred  asked  his 
friend  to  write  it  down  in  a  blank  leaf  of  that  collection  of 
psalms  and  hymns  which  he  always  carried  in  his  bosom ; 
but  not  a  blank  could  be  found  of  sufficient  magnitude. 
Pursuant  therefore  to  Asser's  proposal,  a  quire,  or  quaternion 
that  is  to  say,  a  sheet  of  vellum  folded  into  fours,  was 
produced,  on  which  these  texts  were  written;  and  Alfred 
afterwards  working  upon  them,  translated  the  passages  so 
selected  into  the  Anglo-Saxon  tongue. 

He  continued  the  practice  of  writing  down  such  remark- 
able passages  as  were  quoted  in  conversation.  His  "hand- 
boc "  or  manual,  however,  included  some  matters  of  his 
own  observation,  anecdotes,  or  sayings  of  pious  men ;  but 
the  body  of  the  collection  appears  to  have  consisted  of 
extracts  from  the  Scriptures,  intermingled  with  reflections  of 
a  devotional  cast.  He  attempted  a  complete  version  of  the 
Bible,  and  some  have  supposed  that  he  completed  the  greater 
portion  of  the  task  ;  but  it  seems  that  the  work  was  pre- 
vented by  his  early  death.  As  far  as  we  can  judge  from 
those  portions  of  the  plan  which  were  carried  into  execution, 
his  translations  were  intended  to  present  a  complete  course 
of  such  works  as  were  then  considered  the  most  useful  and 
best  calculated  to  form  die  groundwork  of  a  liberal  educa- 
tion. The  chronicle  of  Orosius  was  the  best  compendium 
of  universal  history  which  had  yet  been  composed.  In 
translating  this  work  Alfred  presented  his  subjects  with  a 
geographical  account  of  the  natives  of  Germany ;  and  the 
voyages  of  Other  towards  the  North  Pole,  and  of  Wolfstan 
in  the  Baltic,  were  detailed  as  these  travellers  related  them 
to  the  king.  The  history  of  Bseda,  which  was  also  rendered 
into  English,  instructed  the  learner  in  the  annals  of  his  own 
country.  In  this  work  Alfred  did  not  depart  from  hig 
original ;  but  in  his  version  of  the  "  Consolations  of  Philo- 


DUNSTAN.  2<) 

sophy,"  by  Boethius,  the  narratives  taken  from  ancient 
mythology,  like  the  story  of   Orpheus  and  Eurydice,  are 

expanded  into  pleasing  tales,  such  as  the  gleeman  recited 
during  the  intervals  of  his  song.  "  Pastoral  Instructions  "  Oi 
St.  Gregory  and  the  "Dialogues"  composed  by  that  Pope, 
also  form  a  portion  of  Alfred's  translations,  and  are  yet 
existing.  His  other  works  are  no  longer  extant;  and  we 
must  lament  the  loss  of  his  "Apologues"  of  "wonderful 
sweetness,"  which  seem  to  have  been  a  collection  of  Esopian 
fables  imitated  from  Phaedrus,  or  perhaps  from  some  other 
of  the  collections  into  which  these  eastern  parables  had 
been  transfused. 


VTI. 

DUNSTAN. 

GREEN. 

[Death  removed  Alfred  before  he  could  carry  out  his 
plans  of  winning  back  England  from  the  Danes ;  but 
this  was  done  by  the  kings  of  his  house  who  followed  him, 
Eadward,  yEthelstan,  and  Eadmund.  The  Danes  were 
conquered  after  long  struggles,  and  all  England  brought 
under  the  West-Saxon  rule.  The  last  great  struggle 
took  place  under  King  Eadred ;  and  the  final  settlement 
of  the  country  was  brought  about  by  his  friend  and 
counsellor,  the  Abbot  Dunstan,  who  remained  minister  of 
the  kingdom  through  the  reign  of  the  greatest  of  those 
kings,  Eadgar.] 

The  completion  of  the  West-Saxon  realm  was  reserved 
for  the  hands,  not  of  a  king  or  warrior,  but  of  a  priest. 
Dunstan  stands  first  in  the  line  of  ecclesiastical  states- 
men   who   counted    among    them    Lanfranc   and    WoLsey 


PROSF  READINGS   FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

and  ended  in  Laud.  He  is  still  more  remarkable  in  him- 
self, in  his  own  vivid  personality,  after  eight  centuries  of 
revolution  and  change.  He  was  born  in  the  little  hamlet 
of  Glastonbury,1  the  home  of  his  father,  Heorstan,  a  man 
of  wealth  and  brother  of  the  bishops  of  Wells  and  of  Win- 
chester. It  must  have  been  in  his  father's  hall  that  the 
fair,  diminutive  boy,  with  his  scant  but  beautiful  hair,  caught 
his  love  for  "  the  vain  songs  of  heathendom,  the  trifling  le- 
gends, the  funeral  chaunts,"  which  afterwards  roused  against 
him  the  charge  of  sorcery.  Thence  too  he  may  have  de- 
rived his  passionate  love  of  music,  and  his  custom  of  carry- 
ing his  harp  in  hand  on  journey  or  visit.  Wandering  scholars 
of  Ireland2  had  left  their  books  in  the  monastery  of  Glaston- 
bury, as  they  left  them  along  the  Rhine  and  the  Danube ; 
and  Dunstan  plunged  into  the  study  of  sacred  and  profane 
letters  till  his  brain  broke  down  in  delirium.  So  famous 
became  his  knowledge  in  the  neighbourhood  that  news  of 
it  reached  the  court  of  ^Ethelstan,3  but  his  appearance 
there  was  the  signal  for  a  burst  of  ill-will  among  the 
courtiers.  They  drove  him  from  the  king's  train,  threw  him 
from  his  horse  as  he  passed  through  the  marshes,  and  with 
the  wild  passion  of  their  age  trampled  him  under  foot  in 
the  mire. 

The  outrage  ended  in  fever,  and  Dunstan  rose  from  his 
sick-bed  a  monk.  But  the  monastic  profession  was  then 
little  more  than  a  vow  of  celibacy,4  and  his  devotion  took 
no  ascetic  turn.  His  nature  in  fact  was  sunny,  versatile, 
artistic;  full  of  strong  affections,  and  capable  of .  inspiring 
others  with  affections  as  strong.     Quick-witted,  of  tenacious 

1  Near  Wells  hi  Somerset.  2  Ireland  in  early  times  was 

full  of  schools  and  learning,  and  its  scholars  and  missionaries 
wandered  over  Europe.  This  learning  came  to  an  end  with  the 
ravages  of  the  Danes.  3  King  .F,  the  1st  an  was  the  grand- 

son of  Alfred.  4  That  is,  abstinence  from  marriag-:. 


DUNS  TAX.  31 

memory,  a  ready  and  fluent  speaker,  gay  and  genial  in 
address,  an  artist,  a  musician  ;  he  was  at  the  same  time  an 
indefatigable  worker  at  books,  at  building,  at  handicraft.  As 
his  sphere  began  to  widen  we  see  him  followed  by  a  train 
of  pupils,  busy  with  literature,  writing,  harping,  painting, 
designing.  One  morning  a  lady  summoned  Dunstan  to 
her  house  to  design  a  robe  which  she  was  embroidering, 
and  as  he  bent  with  her  maidens  over  their  toil  his 
harp  hung  upon  the  wall  sounded,  without  mortal  touch, 
tones  which  the  excitjd  ears  around  framed  into  a  joyous 
antiphon. 

From  this  scholar-life  Dunstan  was  called  to  a  wider 
sphere  of  activity  by  the  accession  of  Eadmund.5  But  the 
old  jealousies  revived  at  his  reappearance  at  court,  and, 
counting  the  game  lost,  Dunstan  prepared  again  to  with- 
draw. The  King  had  spent  the  day  in  the  chase  ;  the  red 
deer  which  he  was  pursuing  dashed  over  Cheddar  cliffs,6  and 
his  horse  only  checked  itself  on  the  brink  of  the  ravine  at 
the  moment  when  Eadmund  in  the  bitterness  of  death  was 
repenting  of  his  injustice  to  Dunstan.  He  Avas  at  once 
summoned  on  the  King's  return.  "  Saddle  your  horse," 
said  Eadmund,  "and  ride  with  me."  The  royal  train  swept 
over  the  marshes  to  his  home ;  and  the  King,  bestowing  on 
him  the  kiss  of  peace,  seated  him  in  the  abbot's  chair  as 
Abbot  of  Glastonbury.  Dunstan  became  one  of  Ead- 
mund's  councillors  and  his  hand  was  seen  in  the  settlement 
of  the  North.  It  was  the  hostility  of  the  states  around  it 
to  the  West-Saxon  rule  which  had  roused  so  often  revolt  in 
the  Danelagh  ;  but  from  this  time  we  hear  nothing  more  of 
the  hostility  of  Bemicia,7  while  Strathclyde  was  conquered 

The  son  and  successor  of  Atthels/an.  «  In  Ihe  Mendip 

Hills   of  Somerset.  7  Bemicia   comprized  all  England 

between  Yorkshire  and  the  Firth  of  Forth.  Strathclyde  7i:as  th" 
country  from  the  Firth  of  Clyde  southward  to  near  Carlisle. 


32        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

by  Eadmund  and  turned  adroitly  to  account  in  winning 
over  the  Scots  to  his  cause.  The  greater  part  of  it  was 
granted  to  their  King  Malcolm  on  terms  that  he  should  be 
Eadmund's  fellow-worker  by  sea  and  land.  The  league  of 
Scot  and  Briton  was  thus  finally  broken  up,  and  the  fidelity 
of  the  Scots  secured  by  their  need  of  help  in  holding  down 
their  former  ally. 

The  settlement  was  soon  troubled  by  the  young  king's 
death.  As  he  feasted  at  Pucklechurch  in  the  May  of  946, 
Leofa,  a  robber  whom  Eadmund  had  banished  from  the 
land,  entered  the  hall,  seated  himself  at  the  royal  board, 
and  drew  sword  on  the  cup-bearer  when  he  bade  him  retire. 
The  king  sprang  in  wrath  to  his  thegn's  aid,  and  seizing 
Leofa  by  the  hair  flung  him  to  the  ground ;  but  in  the 
struggle  the  robber  drove  his  dagger  to  Eadmund's  heart. 
His  death  at  once  stirred  fresh  troubles  in  the  north  ;  the 
Danelagh8  rose  against  his  brother  and  successor,  Eadred, 
and  some  years  of  hard  fighting  were  needed  before  it  was 
again  driven  to  own  the  English  supremacy.  But  with  its 
submission  in  954  the  work  of  conquest  was  done.  Dogged 
as  his  fight  had  been,  the  Northman  at  last  owned  himself 
beaten.  From  the  moment  of  Eadred's  final  triumph  all 
resistance  came  to  an  end.  The  Danelagh  ceased,  to  be  a 
force  in  English  politics.  North  might  part  anew  from 
South  ;  men  of  Yorkshire  might  again  cross  swords  with  men 
of  Hampshire  ;  but  their  strife  was  henceforth  a  local  strife 
between  men  of  the  same  people  ;  it  was  a  strife  of  English- 
men with  Englishmen,  and  not  of  Englishmen  with  North- 
men. 

The  death  of  Eadred  in  955  handed  over  the  realm  to  a 
child  king,  his  nephew  Eadwig.  Eadwig  was  swayed  by  a 
woman  of  high  lineage,  ^Ethelgifu  ;  and  the  quarrel  between 

8  All  from  the  Tees  southward  to  a  line  across  Mid- England 
was  settled  by  Danes  and  called  the  Danelagh. 


DUNS  TAN  33 

her  and  the  older  counsellors  of  Eadrcd   broke   into  oj.cn 
strife  at   the  coronation  feast.     On  the  young  king's  insolent 
withdrawal  to  her  chamber,  Dunstan,  at  the  bidding  of  the 
Witan,  drew  him   roughly  back  to  his  seat.      But  the   feast 
was  no  sooner  ended   than  a  sentence  of  outlawry    drove 
the  abbot    over  sea,    while   the  triumph  of  yEthelgifu   was 
crowned  in  957  by  the  marriage  of  her  daughter  to  the  King 
and  the  spoliation   of  the  monasteries  which   Dunstan   had 
befriended.     As  the  new  Queen  was  Eadwig's  kinswoman, 
the  religious  opinion   of  the   day   regarded  his  marriage  as 
incestuous,  and  it  was  followed  by   a  revolution.     At   the 
opening  of  958  Archbishop  Odo'J  parted  the  King  from  his 
wife  by  solemn  sentence  ;  while  the  Mercians10  and  North- 
umbrians rose  in  revolt,  proclaimed  Eadwig's  brother  Eadgar 
their  King,  and  recalled  Dunstan.     The  death  of  Eadwig  a 
few  months  later  restored  the  unity  of  the   realm,   but   his 
successor  Eadgar  was  only  a  boy  of  fourteen,  and  throughout 
his  reign  the  actual  direction  of  affairs  lay  in  the  hands  ot 
Dunstan,  whose  devotion  to  the  See  of  Canterbury  set  him 
at  the   head  of  the  Church  as  of  the  State.     The  noblest 
tribute  to  his  rule  lies  in  the  silence  of  our  chroniclers.     His 
work  indeed  was  a  work  of  settlement,  and  such  a  work  was 
best  done  by  the  simple  enforcement  of  peace.     During  the 
years  of  rest  in  which  the  stern  hand  of  the  Primate  enforced 
justice  and  order  Northmen  and  Englishmen  drew  together 
into  a  single  people.     Their   union    was    the  result  of  no 
direct   policy  of  fusion ;   on   the  contrary  Dunstan's  policy 
preserved  to  the  conquered  Danelagh  its  local  rights   and 
local  usages.     But  he  recognized  the  men  of  the  Danelagh 
as  Englishmen,  he  employed  Northmen  in  the  royal  service, 
and  promoted  them  to  high  posts  in  Church  and  State.     For 
the  rest  he  trusted  to  time,  and  time  justified  his  trust.     The 
fusion  was  marked  by  a  memorable  change  in  the  name  of 
9  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.        in  People  of  mid- England. 


34        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

the  land.  Slowly  as  the  conquering  tribes  had  learned  to 
know  themselves  by  the  one  national  name  of  Englishmen, 
they  learned  yet  more  slowly  to  stamp  their  name  on  the 
land  they  had  won.  It  was  not  till  Eadgar's  day  that  the 
name  of  Britain  passed  into  the  name  of  Engla-land,  the 
land  of  Englishmen,  England. 


VIII. 

BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 

FREEMAN. 

[England  had  now  become  a  great  kingdom  :  but  it  had  yet 
sore  trials  to  bear  before  Englishmen  could  be  thoroughly 
welded  and  blended  together  into  one  people,  looking  on 
themselves  as  a  single  nation.  Eirst,  as  the  kingdom 
grew  weak  under  Eadgar's  successors,  came  a  second 
Danish  attack,  which  ended  for  a  while  in  the  conquest  of 
England,  and  in  its  rule  by  the  Danish  king  Cnut.  But 
the  oppression  of  his  sons  put  an  end  to  the  Danish  rule ; 
and  the  old  English  kingdom  was  set  up  again  undei 
Eadward  the  Confessor,  who  was  guided  by  wise  ministers, 
Earl  Godwine  and  his  son  Harold.  On  Eadward's  death, 
however,  Harold  sought  the  crown,  and  had  himself 
chosen  king.  This  woke  rivalry  and  dissension  among  th.6 
other  nobles,  and  so  laid  England  open  to  the  ambition  of 
its  neighbour  over-sea,  William  the  Duke  of  the  Normans. 
Pretending  that  the  Confessor  had  named  him  as  his  suc- 
cessor, William  crossed  the  Channel  with  a  great  army, 
and  landing  at  Pevensey  marched  to  the  field  of  Senlac, 
north  of  the  town  of  Hastings,  and  near  to  the  present 
town  of  Battle,  to  which  the  fight  that  followed  gave  its 
name.  Here  he  found  Harold  with  an  English  army 
awaiting  his  attack  on  a  low  hill  or  rise  of  ground,  which 
he  had  strengthened  with  barricades  ] 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS.  35 

King  Harold  h;ul  risen  early  and  had  put  his  men  in 
order.  On  the  slope  of  the  hill,  just  in  the  face  of  William's 
army  as  it  came  from  Hastings,  he  planted  the  two  ensigns 
which  were  always  set  up  in  an  English  royal  army,  and 
between  which  the  King  had  his  royal  post.  The  one 
was  the  golden  Dragon,  the  old  ensign  of  Wessex  ;  the 
other  was  the  Standard,  which  seems  to  have  been  the 
King's  own  device.  King  Harold's  Standard  was  a  great 
flag,  richly  adorned  with  precious  stones  and  with  the  figure 
of  a  fighting-man  wrought  upon  it  in  gold.  As  the  English 
thus  had  two  ensigns,  they  had  also  two  war-cries.  They 
shouted  "God  Almighty,"  which  I  take  to  have  been  the 
national  war-cry,  and  they  also  shouted  "  Holy  Cross," 
that  is  no  doubt  the  Holy  Cross  of  Waltham  which  King 
Harold  held  in  such  reverence.  Perhaps  this  last  was  the 
cry  of  the  King's  own  men.  For  there  were  in  the  English 
army  two  very  different  kinds  of  men.  There  were  King 
Harold's  own  followers,  his  own  kinsmen  and  friends 
and  Thanes1  and  housecarls,  the  men  of  whom  the  North- 
men said  that  any  one  could  fight  any  other  two  men. 
These  were  in  short  the  men  who  had  won  the  fight  of 
Stamfordbridge.2  They  wore  coats  of  mail,  and  they  had 
javelins  to  hurl  at  the  beginning  of  the  fight,  and  their  great 
two-handed  axes  to  use  when  the  foe  came  to  close  quarters. 
But  besides  these  tried  soldiers  there  were  the  men 
who  came  together  from  the  whole  South  and  East  of 
England,  who  were  armed  as  they  could  arm  themselves, 
many  of  them  very  badly.  Most  of  them  had  no  coats  of 
mail  or  other  armour,  and  many  had   neither  swords   nor 

1  Thanes  were  nobles  who  were  bound  to  fight  fcr  their  lord  ^ 
lioust  carls  were  soldiers  kept  specially  for  the  king's  so  vice, 

-  fust  before  William's  landing,  Harold  had  fought  and 
beaten  at  Stamfordbriilge  his  own  brother  Tostig,  who  had  in- 
vaded England  with  an  army  of  Northmen  under  their  king, 
Harold  Hardrada. 


36        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

axes.  Some  of  them  had  pikes,  forks,  anything  they  could 
bring ;  a  very  few  seem  to  have  had  bows  and  arrows. 
Now  in  a  battle  on  the  open  ground  these  men  would  have 
been  of  no  use  at  all ;  the  Norman  horsemen  would  have 
trampled  them  down  in  a  moment.  But  even  these  badly 
armed  troops,  when  placed  on  the  hill  side,  behind  barri- 
cades, could  do  a  good  deal  in  driving  the  Normans  back 
as  they  rode  up.  But  as  far  as  I  can  see  King  Harold 
put  these  bad  troops  in  the  back,  towards  what  we  may  call 
the  isthmus  of  the  peninsula,3  where  the  worse  troops  on  the 
other  side  were  likely  to  make  the  attack.  But  his  picked 
men  he  put  in  front,  where  the  best  troops  of  the  enemy 
were  likely  to  come. 

Thus  the  English  stood  on  the  hill  ready  for  the  French 
host,  horse  and  foot,  who  were  coming  across  from  Telham 
to  attack  them.  About  nine  o'clock  on  Saturday  morning 
they  came  near  to  the  foot  of  the  hill.  The  Norman  army 
was  in  three  parts.  Alan  4  and  the  Bretons  had  to  attack 
on  the  left,  to  the  west  of  the  Abbey  buildings.  Roger 
of  Montgomery  with  the  French  and  Picards  were  on 
the  right,  near  where  the  railway  station  is  now.  Duke 
William  himself  and  the  native  Normans  were  in  the  midst, 
and  they  carne  right  against  the  point  of  the  hill  which  was 
crowned  by  the  Standard,  where  King  Harold  himself  stood 
ready  for  them. 

And  now  began  the  great  battle  of  Senlac  or  Hastings. 
The  Norman  archers  let  fly  their  arrows  against  the  English  ; 
then  the  heavy-armed  foot  were  to  come  up ;  and  lastly 
the  horsemen.  They  hoped  of  course  that  the  shower  of 
arrows  would  kill  many  of  the   English   and  put  the  rest 

3  The  ground  on  which  the  English  army  stood  was  a  low 
rise,  cut  off  fro7ti  the  ground  near  it,  and  so  like  a  peninsula. 

4  The  Count  of  B>  itanny,  who  had  brought  troops  to  William's 
aid. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS.  37 

into  confusion,  and  that  the  heavy-armed  foot  would  then 
be  able  to  Wreak  down  the  barricades,  so  that  the  horsemen 
might  ride  up  the  hill.  But  first  of  all  a  man  named,  or 
rather  nicknamed,  Taillefer  or  Cut-iron,  rode  out  alone  from 
the  Norman  ranks,  lie  was  a  juggler  or  minstrel,  who  could 
sing  songs  and  play  tricks,  but  he  was  a  brave  man  all  the 
same,  and  he  asked  Duke  William's  leave  that  he  might 
strike  the  first  blow,  hand  to  hand.  So  Taillefer  the  mins- 
trel rode  forth,  singing  as  he  went,  like  Harold  Hardrada  at 
Stamfordbridge,  and,  as  some  say,  throwing  his  sword  up  in 
the  air  and  catching  it  again.  As  he  came  near  to  the 
English  line,  he  managed  to  kill  one  man  with  his  lance 
and  another  with  his  sword,  but  then  he  was  cut  down 
himself.  Then  the  French  army  pressed  on  at  all  points, 
shouting  "  God  help  us,"  while  our  men  shouted,  "  God 
Almighty  "  and  "  Holy  Cross."  They  tried  very  hard,  first 
the  foot  and  then  the  horse,  to  break  down  the  barricade. 
But  it  was  all  in  vain.  The  English  hurled  their  javelins 
at. them  as  they  were  drawing  near,  and  when  they  came 
near  enough,  they  cut  them  down  with  their  axes.  The 
Norman  writers  themselves  tell  us  how  dreadful  the  fight 
was,  and  how  the  English  axe,  in  the  hand  of  King 
Harold  or  of  any  other  strong  man,  cut  down  the  horse  and 
his  rider  with  a  single  blow. 

Duke  William  and  his  army  tried  and  tried  again  to  get 
up  the  hill,  but  it  was  all  in  vain  ;  our  men  did  not  swerve 
an  inch,  and  they  cut  down  every  Frenchman  who  came 
near,  King  Harold  himself  and  his  brothers  fighting  among 
the  foremost.  Soon  the  French  lines  began  to  waver ;  the 
Bretons  on  the  right  turned  and  fled,  and  soon  the  Normans 
themselves  followed.  The  Fnglish  were  now  sorely  tempted 
to  break  their  lines  and  pursue,  which  was  just  what  King 
Harold  had  told  them  not  to  do.  Some  of  them,  seemingly 
the  troops  in  the  rear,  where  the  Bretons  had  first  given  way, 

430152 


33        PKOSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

were  foolish  enough  to  disobey  the  King's  orders,  and  to 
loilow  their  flying  enemies  down  into  the  plain.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  French  were  utterly  beaten,  and  a  cry  was  raised 
that  Duke  William  himself  was  dead.  So,  just  as  our  King 
Edmund5  had  done  at  Sherstone,  he  tore  off  his  helmet  that 
men  might  see  that  he  was  alive,  and  cried  out,  "  I  live,  and 
by  God's  help  I  will  conquer."  Then  he  and  his  brother  the 
Bishop  contrived  to  bring  their  men  together  again.  They 
turned  again  to  the  fight ;  those  who  were  pursued  by  the 
English  cut  their  pursuers  in  pieces,  and  another  assault  on 
the  hill  began.  Duke  William  this  time  had  somewhat  better 
luck.  He  got  so  near  to  the  barricade  just  before  the  Standard 
that  Earl  Gyrth,  who  we  know  fought  near  his  brother  the 
King,  was  able  to  hurl  a  spear  directly  at  him.  It  missed  the 
Duke,  but  his  horse  was  killed  and  fell  under  him,  as  two 
others  did  before  the  day  was  out.  Duke  William  then 
pressed  on  on  foot,  and  met  Gyrth  face  to  face,  and  slew 
him  with  his  own  hand.  Earl  Leofwine  too  was  killed 
about  the  same  time,  and  Roger  of  Montgomery  and  his 
Frenchmen  on  the  right  contrived  to  break  down  part  of 
the  barricade  on   that  side. 

So  this  second  attack  was  by  no  means  so  unsuccessful 
as  the  first.  The  two  Earls  were  killed,  and  the  barricade 
was  beginning  to  give  way.  Still  Duke  William  "saw  that 
he  could  never  win  the  battle  by  making  his  horsemen 
charge  up  the  hill  in  the  teeth  of  the  English  axes.  He 
saw  that  his  only  chance  was  to  tempt  the  English 
to  break  their  shield-wall,  and  come  down  into  the  plain. 
So  he  tried  a  very  daring  and  dangerous  trick.  He  had 
seen  the  advantage  which  by  his  good  generalship  he  had 
contrived  to  gain  out  of  the  real  flight  of  his  men  a 
little  time  before ;  so  he  ordered  his  troops  to  pretend 
thght,  and,  if  the  English  followed,  to  turn  upon  them.  And 
8  Edmund  Ironside. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS.  ;  , 

so  it  was  ;  the  whole  Fre  u  h  army  seemed  to  be  fleeing  a 
second  time  ;  so  a  great  many  of  the  English  ran  down  the 
hill  ,to  chase  them.  As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  it  was  only 
the  light-armed,   the  troops  on   the  right,  who  did  this  ;    I 

do  not  think  that  any  of  King  Harold's  own  housecarls 
left  their  ranks.  But  presently  the  Normans  turned,  and 
now  the  English  had  to  fly.  Those  who  had  made  this 
great  mistake  did  their  best  to  make  up  for  it.  Some 
managed  to  seize  a  little  hill  which  rose  in  front  of  the 
English  position,  and  thence  they  hurled  down  javelins  and 
stones  on  those  who  attacked  them,  and  thus  they  com- 
pletely cut  off  a  party  who  were  sent  against  them.  Others, 
who  knew  the  ground  well,  led  tin  Frenchmen  who  chased 
them  to  a  place  near  the  isthmus  where  the  ground  is 
very  rough,  and  where  there  is  a  little  narrow  cleft  with 
steep  sides,  all  covered  with  bushes  and  low  trees.  So  the 
Normans  came  riding  on,  and  their  horses  came  tumbling 
head  over  heels  into  the  trap  which  was  thus  ready  for 
them,  and  the  English  who  were  flying  now  turned  round 
and  killed  the  riders. 

All  this  was  bravely  and  cleverly  done  ;  but  it  could  not 
recover  the  battle,  now  that  King  Harold's  wise  orders  had 
once  been  disobeyed.  The  English  line  was  broken  ;  the 
hill  was  defenceless  at  many  points ;  so  the  Normans 
could  ride  up,  and  the  battle  was  now  fought  on  the  hill. 
The  fight  was  by  no  means  over  yet ;  the  English  had 
lost  their  great  advantage  ot  the  ground;  but  Kin- 
Harold  and  all  his  mighty  men  were  still  there  ;  so  they 
still  formed  their  shield-wall  and  fought  with  their  great 
axes.  Luck  had  no  doubt  turned  against  the  English  ;  still 
'they  were  by  no  means  beaten  yet,  and  it  is  by  no  means 
clear  that  they  would  have  been  beaten  after  all,  if  King 
Harold  had  only  lived  till  nightfall.  Here,  as  always  in 
these  times,  everything  depended  on  one  man.  Harold  still 
13 


4o        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

lived  and  fought  by  his  Standard,  and  it  was  against  that 
point  that  all  the  devices  of  the  Normans  were  now  aimed. 
The  Norman  archers  had  begun  the  fight,  and  the  Norman 
archers  were  now  to  end  it.  Duke  William  now  bade  them 
shoot  up  in  the  air,  that  the  arrows  might  fall  like  bolts 
from  heaven.  This  device  proved  the  most  successful  of 
all ;  some  men  were  pierced  right  through  their  helmets ; 
others  had  their  eyes  put  out ;  others  lifted  up  their  shields 
to  guard  their  heads,  and  so  could  not  wield  their  axes  s<"> 
well  as  before.  King  Harold  still  stood — you  may  see 
hi  n  in  the  Tapestry,6  standing  close  by  the  Golden  Dragon, 
with  his  axe  in  his  hand,  and  his  shield  pierced  with  several 
a /rows.  But  now  the  hour  of  our  great  King  was  come. 
Every  foe  who  had  come  near  him  had  felt  the  might 
of  that  terrible  axe,  but  his  axe  could  not  guard  against 
this  awful  shower  of  arrows.  One  shaft,  falling,  as  I  said, 
from  heaven,  pierced  his  right  eye ;  he  clutched  at  it  and 
broke  off  the  shaft ;  his  axe  dropped  from  his  hand,  and 
he  fell,  all  disabled  by  pain,  in  his  own  place  as  King, 
between  the  two  royal  ensigns.  Twenty  Norman  knights 
swore  to  take  the  Standard  now  that  the  King  no  longer 
defended  it ;  they  rushed  on  ;  most  of  them  were  killed 
by  the  English  who  still  fought  around  their  wounded  King  ; 
but  those  who  escaped  succeeded  in  beating  down  the 
Standard  of  the  Fighting  Man  and  in  bearing  off  the 
Golden  Dragon.  That  ancient  ensign,  which  had  shone 
over  so  many  battlefields,  was  never  again  carried  before 
a  true  English  King.  Then  four  knights,  one  of  whom 
was  Count  Eustace,  rushed  upon  King  Harold  as  he  lay 
dying  ;  they  killed  him  with  several  wounds,  and  mangled 
his  body.     Such  was  the  end  of  the  last  native  King  cf  the 

6  At  Bayeux  is  preserved  a  long  roll  of  linen,  on  which  is 
vorked  the  story  of  the  Norman  Conquest,  perhaps  by  'he  hand 
of  William's  queen,  Matilda. 


THE  HARRYING  OF  THE  NORTH.        4' 

English,  Harold  the  son  of  Godwine.  He  fell  by  the  most 
glorious  of  deaths,  fighting  for  the  land  and  the  people  which 
he  had  loved  so  well. 


IX. 

THE  HARRYING  OF  THE  NORTH. 
FREEMAN. 

[The  work  of  conquest  which  began  at  Hastings  was  carried 
out  in  a  series  of  campaigns  which  left  William  after  five 
years  of  warfare  undisputed  master  of  England.  Of  the 
suffering  which  this  warfare  caused  the  most  terrible 
instance  was  the  pitiless  laying  waste  of  all  Northern 
England,  from  which  the  most  formidable  resistance  had 
come.] 

Now  came  that  fearful  deed,  half  of  policy,  half  of  ven- 
geance, which  has  stamped  the  name  of  William  with 
infamy,  and  which  forms  a  clearly  marked  stage  in  the 
downward  course  of  his  moral  being.  He  had  embarked  in 
a  wrongful  undertaking ;  but  hitherto  we  cannot  say  that  he 
had  aggravated  the  original  wrong  by  reckless  or  wanton 
cruelties.  But,  as  ever,  wrong  avenged  itself  by  leading  to 
deeper  wrong.  The  age  was  a  stern  one,  and  hitherto 
William  had  certainly  not  sinned  against  the  public  opinion 
of  the  age.  Hitherto  he  had  been  on  the  whole  a  mercifu 
conqueror.  He  had  shown  that  he  belonged  to  another 
type  of  beings  from  the  men  who  had  wasted  his  own 
Duchy  in  his  childhood,  and  from  the  men  on  whom  *  Siward 
and  Tostig  had  striven  to  put  some  check  within  the  land 

1  Siward  and  Tostig  had  been  successively  Earls  of  Norlh- 
Httih  /</,  and  had  t  it  led  its  wild  population  with  terrible  sternness. 


42       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

which  he  had  now  won.  Siward  and  Tostig  were  both  ol 
them  men  of  blood,  stained  with  the  guilt  of  private  murder, 
from  whicii  we  may  be  sure  that  William  would  have  shrunk 
at  any  time  of  his  life.  But  we  may  be  no  less  sure  that 
Siward  and  Tostig,  harsh  as  they  were,  would  have  shrunk 
from  the  horrors  which  William  now  proceeded  deliberately 
to  inflict  on  Northern  England. 

The  harryings  of  which  Sussex  and  Kent  had  seen  some- 
thing on  his  first  landing2  were  now  to  be  carried  out  far 
more  systematically,  far  more  unflinchingly,  through  the 
whole  of  Yorkshire  and  several  neighbouring  shires.  The 
King  took  the  work  of  destruction  as  his  personal  share  of 
the  conquest  of  Northumberland.  He  left  others  to  build 
his  castles  in  York  ;  he  left  others  to  watch  the  Danish  fleet 
m  the  Humber;3  but  he  himself  went  through  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  land,  through  its  wildest  and  most  diffi- 
cult regions,  alike  to  punish  the  past  revolts  of  its  people 
and  to  cripple  their  power  of  engaging  in  such  revolts  for 
the  time  to  come.  That  all  who  resisted  were  slain  with 
the  sword  was  a  matter  of  course.  But  now  William  went 
to  and  fro  over  points  a  hundred  miles  from  one  another, 
destroying,  as  far  as  in  him  lay,  the  life  of  the  earth.  It 
was  not  mere  plunder,  which  may  at  least  enrich  the  plun- 
derer ;  the  work  of  William  at  this  time  was  simple  un- 
mitigated havoc.  Houses  were  everywhere  burned  with  all 
that  was  in  them ;  stores  of  corn,  goods  and  property  of 
every  kind,  were  brought  together  and  destroyed  in  the  like 
sort ;  even  living  animals  seem  to  have  been  driven  to 
perish  in  the  universal  burning. 

The  authentic  records  of  the  Conquest  give  no  hint  of 
any  exceptions  being  made  or  favour  being  shown  in  any 

2  Before  the  battle  of  Hastings.  3  The  revolt  -which 

William  had  come  to  suppress  had  begun  at  York,  and  had  been 
supported  by  a  Danish  fleet,  which  appeared  in  the  Humber. 


THE  HARRYING  OF  THE  NORTH.  43 

part  of  the  doomed  region.  But  local  legends  as  usual 
supply  their  tale  of  wonder.  Beverley  »a>  saved  by  the 
interposition  of  its  heavenly  patron,  the  canonized  Arch- 
bishop John.4  The  K iiil;  had  pitched  his  camp  seven  miles 
from  the  town,  when  news  was  brought  that  the  people  of 
the  whole  neighbourhood  had  taken  shelter  with  all  their 
precious  things  in  the  inviolable  sanctuary  which  was  afforded 
by  the  frithstool 5  of  the  saint.  On  hearing  this,  some 
plunderers,  seemingly  without  the  royal  orders,  set  forth  to 
make  a  prey  of  the  town  and  of  those  who  had  sought 
shelter  in  it.  They  entered  Beverley  without  meeting  with 
any  resistance,  and  made  their  way  to  the  churchyard,  where 
a  vast  crowd  of  people  was  gathered  together.  The  leader 
of  the  band,  Toustain  by  name,  marked  out  an  old  man  in 
goodly  apparel  with  a  golden  bracelet  on  his  arm.  This 
was  doubtless  the  badge  of  his  official  rank,  or  the  prize 
which  Harold  or  Siward  or  some  other  bracelet-giver0  had 
bestowed  as  the  reward  of  good  service  against  Scot  or  Briton 
or  Northman.  The  Englishmen  iled  within  the  walls  of  the 
minster.  The  sacrilegious  Toustain,  sword  in  hand,  spurred 
his  horse  within  the  consecrated  doors.  But  the  vengeance 
of  Saint  John  of  Beverley  did  not  slumber.  The  horse  fell 
with  its  neck  broken,  and  Toustain  himself,  smitten  in  his 
own  person,  his  arms  and  legs  all  twisted  behind  his  back, 
no  longer  seemed  a  man  but  a  monster.  His  affrighted 
comrades  laid  aside  all  their  schemes  of  plunder  and 
slaughter,  and  humbly  implored  the  mercy  of  the  saint 
They  made  their  way  back  to  William  and  told  him  the  tale 
of  wonder.  The  King  had  already  shown  himself  a  friend 
to  the  church  of  Saint  John,  and  now,  fearing  the  wrath  of 

'■  John  was  A  rchbishop  of  York  in  early  day*,  and  canonized 
as  lit.  John  of  Beverley.  6    The  shrine  of  a  saint  was  /tela 

■  ;v  shelter  to  all.  ''■  Bracelets  or  armlets  were  given  in 

reward  of  good  service,  as  med.Js  arc  aow. 


44        PROSE  READINGS  FROM   ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

the  saint,  he  summoned  the  chief  member  of  the  chapter 
before  him,  and  again  confirmed  all  their  possessions  by 
charters  under  the  royal  seal.  He  added  new  grants  of  land 
and  precious  gifts  for  the  adornment  of  the  minster,  and, 
what  was  of  more  immediate  value  than  all,  that  there 
might  be  no  further  danger  of  the  peace  of  Saint  John  being 
broken,  he  at  once  broke  up  his  camp  by  sound  of  trumpet, 
and  removed  his  headquarters  to  a  place  far  removed  from 
the  hallowed  spot. 

The  lands  of  Saint  John  of  Beverley  were  thus,  according 
to  the  local  legend,  spared  among  the  general  havoc,  and 
remained  tilled  while  all  around  was  a  wilderness.      The 
long-abiding  traces  of  the  destruction  which  was  now  wrought 
were  its  most  fearful  feature.  The  accounts  of  the  immediate 
ravaging   are  graphic   and    terrible   enough,    but    they   are 
perhaps  outdone  in  significance  by  the  passionless  witness 
of   the  great  Survey,7  the  entries   of    "Waste,"    "Waste," 
"  Waste,"  attached  through  page  after  page  to  the  Yorkshire 
lordships  which,  seventeen  years  after,  had  not  recovered 
from  the  blow.     Indeed,  we  may  be  inclined  to  ask  whether 
Northern  England  ever  fully  recovered  from  the  blow  till 
that  great  developement  of  modern  times  which  has  reversed 
the  respective  importance  of  the  North  and  the  South.     For 
nine  years   at    least   no   attempt   was   made    at  tilling  the 
ground;  between  York  and  Durham  every  town  stood  un- 
inhabited ;  their  streets  became  lurking-places  for  robbeis 
and    wild    beasts.      Even    a   generation    later    the    passing 
traveller  beheld  with   sorrow   the  ruins  of  famous   towns, 
with  their  lofty  towers  rising  above  the  forsaken  dwellings, 
the  fields  lying  untilled  and  tenantless,  the  rivers  flowing 
idly  through  the  wilderness.     At  the  time  the  scene  was  so 
fearful  that  the  contemporary  writers  seem  to  lack  words  to 

7  Doomsday-book,   a   survey   of  all  England  drawn   up   by 
William's  orders. 


LANFRANC.  |- 

set  forth  its  full  horrors.  Men,  women,  and  children  died 
of  hunger;  they  laid  them  down  and  died  in  the  roads  and 
in  the  fields,  and  there  was  no  man  to  bury  them.  Those 
who  survived  kept  up  life  on  strange  and  unaccustomed 
food.  The  flesh  of  cats  and  dogs  was  not  disdained,  and 
the  teaching  which  put  a  ban  on  the  flesh  of  the  horse  as 
the  food  of  Christian  men  8  was  forgotten  under  the  stress 
of  hunger.  Nay,  there  were  those  who  did  not  shrink 
from  keeping  themselves  alive  on  the  flesh  of  their  own 
kind.  Others,  in  the  emphatic  words  of  our  old  records, 
bowed  their  necks  for  meat  in  the  evil  days.  They  became 
slaves  to  any  one  who  would  feed  them,  sometimes,  when 
happier  days  had  come,  to  be  set  free  by  the  charity 
of  their  masters.  Before  the  end  of  the  year  Yorkshire 
was  a  wilderness.  The  bodies  of  its  inhabitants  were 
rotting  in  the  streets,  in  the  highways,  or  on  their  own  hearth- 
stones ;  and  those  who  had  escaped  from  sword,  fire,  and 
hunger,  had  fled  out  of  the  land.9 


X. 

LANFRANC. 
CHURCH. 

[The  Norman  Conquest  of  England  was  very  different  from 
any  conquest  that  had  gone  before  it.  William  not  only 
subdued  the  land  ;  he  changed  the  whole  face  of  it.  Its 
old  nobles  and  landowners  were  for  the  most  part  cast  out, 
and  their  lands  given  to  foreign  soldiers  who  had  helped 
in  the  Conquest.  Thus  a  foreign  baronage  was  planted  on 
the  soil  around  the  foreign  king.     And  as  in  the  State,  so 

|   The  horse  was  eaten  by  the  Northmen,  but  as  its  flesh  was 
offered  in  sacrifices  to  their  gods,  the  eating  of  it  was  forbidden  by 

the  Christian  priesthood.  '■>   To  Scotia  n  J. 


46        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

William  did  his  work  in  the  Church.  Here  he  had  as 
counsellor,  as  wise  and  great  as  himself,  the  Lombard 
Lanfranc,  whom  he  called  from  the  Abbey  of  Bee  to  be 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury.] 

Lanfranc  was  a  Lombard  from  Pavia.1  He  is  said  to 
have  been  of  a  noble  family,  and  to  have  taught  and  practised 
law  in  his  native  city.  He  was,  at  any  rate,  according  to 
the  measure  of  the  time,  a  scholar,  trained  in  what  was 
known  of  the  Classic  Latin  literature,  in  habits  of  dialectical 
debate,  and  especially  in  those  traditions  of  Roman  legal 
science  which  yet  lingered  in  the  Italian  municipalities.  For 
some  unknown  reason,  perhaps  in  quest  of  fame  and  fortune, 
he  left  Italy  and  found  his  way  northwards.  It  was  a  fashion 
among  the  Lombards.  At  Avranches  in  the  Cotentin  2  he 
had  opened  a  sort  of  school,  teaching  the  more  advanced 
knowledge  of  Italy  among  people  who,  Norse3  as  they  were 
in  blood,  were  rapidly  and  eagerly  welcoming  everything 
Latin,  just  as  the  aspiring  and  the  ambitious  half-civilization 
of  Russia  tried  to  copy  the  fuller  civilization  of  Germany 
ond  France.  After  a  time,  for  equally  unknown  reasons,  he 
left  Avranches. 

The  story  which  was  handed  down  at  Bee  in  after  days, 
when  he  had  become  one  of  the  most  famous  men- of  his 
i  lay,  was  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  Rouen  when  he  was 
spoiled  by  robbers  and  left  bound  to  a  tree,  in  a  forest  near 
the  Rille.  Night  came  on  and  he  tried  to  pray  ;  but  he 
could  remember  nothing — psalm  or  office.  "  Lord,"  he 
cried,  "  I  have  spont  all  this  time  and  worn  out  body  and 
mind  in  learning ;  and  now  when  I  ought  to  praise  Thee  I 
know  not  how.  Deliver  me  from  this  tribulation,  and  with 
Thy  help  I  will  so  correct  and  frame  my  life  that  henceforth 

1  A  town  in  Northern  Italy.  2   The  peninsula  which  juts 

out  from  Normandy  on  its  Breton  border.  3  Normandy  had 

been  won  and  settled  by  Northmen. 


LANFRANC.  47 

I  may  serve  Thee."  Next  morning,  when  some  passers-by 
set  him  free,  he  asked  his  way  to  the  humblest  monastery  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  was  directed  to  Bee.4  To  this  place, 
as  to  the  poorest  and  humblest  of  brotherhoods,  Lanfranc 
came.  The  meeting  between  him  and  Ilerlwin5  is  thus 
told.  "The  abbot  happened  to  be  busy  building  an  oven, 
working  at  it  with  his  own  hands.  Lanfranc  came  up  and 
said,  'God  save  you!'  'God  bless  you,'  said  the  abbot; 
'are  you  a  Lombard?'  'I  am,'  said  Lanfranc.  'What 
do  you  want?'  'I  want  to  become  a  monk.'  Then  the 
abbot  bade  a  monk  named  Roger,  who  was  doing  his  own 
w  >  k  apart,  to  show  Lanfranc  the  Book  of  the  Rule,6  which 
he  read,  and  answered  that  with  God's  help  he  would  gladly 
Observe  it.  Then  the  abbot  hearing  this,  and  knowing  who 
he  was,  and  from  whence  he  came,  granted  him  what  he 
desired.  And  he,  falling  down  at  the  mouth  of  the  oven, 
kissed  Herlwin's  feet." 

In  welcoming  Lanfranc,  Ilerlwin  found  that  he  had  wel- 
comed a  great  master  and  teacher.  Lanfranc,  under  his 
abbot's  urging,  began  to  teach  ;  the  monastery  grew  into  a 
school,  and  Bee,  intended  to  be  but  the  refuge  and  training- 
place  of  a  few  narrow  and  ignorant  but  earnest  devotees, 
thirsting  after  God  and  right  amid  the  savagery  0/  a  half 
tamed  heathenism,  sprang  up,  with  the  rapidity  witn  which 
changes  were  made  in  those  days,  into  a  centre  of  thought 
and  cultivation  for  Western  Christendom.  It  was  the  com- 
bination more  than  once  seen  in  modern  Europe,  where 
Italian  genius  and  Northern  strength  have  been  brought 
together  ;  where  the  subtle  and  rich  and  cultivated  Southern 
nature  has    been  braced  and   tempered  into    purpose   and 

4  />'ec,  or  Bcc-Herlouin,  a  monastery  hi  mid-  \'onnandy,  by 
the  valley  of  the  Rille.  h  Herlwin  una  a  knight  who  founded 
the  abbey  of  Bee,  and  himself  became  its  first  abbot.  G  Thi 

rule  of  St.  Benedict,  which  all  monks  wen  bound  to  obey. 

3* 


48        PROSE  READINGS  FROM   ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

energy  by  contact  with  the  bolder  and  morj  strong-willed 
society  of  the  North.  Lanfranc  supplied  to  the  rising  reli- 
gious fervour  of  Normandy  just  the  element  which  it  wanted 
and  which  made  it  fruitful  and  noble. 

The  great  Norman  ruler,7  whose  mind  was  so  full  of  great 
thoughts  both  in  Church  and  State  and  whose  hand  was 
to  be  so  heavy  on  those  whom  he  ruled  and  conquered, 
soon  found  him  out,  and  discovered  that  in  Lanfranc  he 
had  met  a  kindred  soul  and  a  fit  companion  in  his  great 
enterprise  of  governing  and  reducing  to  order  the  wild 
elements  of  his  age.  In  Lanfranc  William  had  a  man  who 
could  tell  him  all  that  any  one  of  that  age  could  tell  him  of 
what  was  then  known  of  the  history,  philosophy,  and  litera- 
ture of  the  Church  and  the  world,  and  of  the  actual  state  of 
questions,  tendencies,  and  parties  in  the  stirring  ecclesiastical 
politics  of  the  day.  He  could  trust  Lanfranc's  acquaintance 
with  his  proper  department  of  knowledge ;  he  could  trust 
his  honesty  and  untiring  perseverance  ;  he  could  trust  his 
good  sense  and  his  wise  sobriety  of  mind  ;  he  could  trust 
his  loyalty  the  more  because  he  knew  that  it  had  bounds, 
though  wide  ones.  For  what  seems  to  have  riveted  the 
connection  between  William  and  Lanfranc  was  Lanfranc's 
perilous  boldness  in  siding  at  first  with  the  ecclesiastical 
opposition  to  William's  marriage ; 8  an  opposition  which 
probably  touched  his  jealousy  as  a  ruler,  and  certainly 
stung  him  to  rage  as  a  husband.  When  he  heard  that  Lan- 
franc had  condemned  it,  he  ordered  not  only  that  the  Prior 
of  Bee  should  be  banished  from  Normandy  at  once,  but  that 
the  house  should  be  punished  also  ;  that  the  home  farmstead 
of  the  abbey,  or,  as  it  was  called,  its  "park,"  should  be 
burned  and  destroyed. 

7  Duke  William,  afterwards  the  conqueror  of  England. 

8  William's  tnarriage  with  Matilda,  a  daughter  of  the  Count 
<jf  Flinders,  was  long  condemned  by  the  Church. 


P!  AMI  OF  THE  CONQUEROR.  49 

The  savage  order  was  obeyed.  Lanfranc  sel  out  on  a 
lame  horse  which  went  on  three  legs,  for  the  monks  had  no 
better  to  give  him,  says  his  biographer — unable,  as  so  often 
we  find  it  in  these  writers,  to  resist  the  joke  which  mixes  with 
their  tears  and  quotations  from  Scripture.  He  met  the 
Duke,  bitter  and  dangerous  in  his  wrath;  he  saluted  him, 
"the  lame  horse,  too,  bowing  his  head  to  the  ground  at 
every  step,"  as  the  biographer  is  careful  to  add.  Lanfranc 
was  sure  that  if  he  could  only  get  a  chance  of  explaining 
himself,  his  case  was  not  desperate.  The  Duke  first  turned 
away  his  face  ;  then,  "  the  Divine  mercy  touching  his  heart," 
he  allowed  Lanfranc  to  speak.  "  Lanfranc  began,"  says 
the  story,  "  with  a  pretty  pleasantry,"  which  betrays,  as 
some  other  stories  do,  his  astute  Lombard  humour  ;  " '  I  am 
leaving  the  country  by  your  orders,'  he  said,  '  and  I  have  to 
go  as  if  on  foot,  troubled  as  I  am  with  this  useless  beast; 
for  I  have  to  look  after  him  so  much  that  I  cannot  get  on  a 
step.  So,  that  I  may  be  able  to  obey  your  command,  please 
to  give  me  a  better  horse.'  "  This  joke  took.  The  Duke  re- 
plied in  the  same  strain,  that  he  never  heard  of  an  offender 
asking  for  a  present  from  his  displeased  judge.  So  a  begin- 
ning being  made,  Lanfranc  gained  a  hearing,  and  was  able 
to  make  his  position  clear.  William  was  too  wise  a  man 
to  throw  away  lightly  an  ally  like  Lanfranc.  A  complete 
reconciliation  and  a  closer  confidence  followed. 


XL 

DEATH  OF  THE  CONQUEROR. 
PALGRAVE. 

[What  William  did  in  the  State  Lanfranc  did  in  the  Church, 
casting  out  all  Englishmen  from  bishoprics  and  great 
abbacies,  and  putting  Normans  and   Fenchmen   in  theii 


5o       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

slead.  Bat  both  King  and  Archbishop  did  nobler  and 
better  work  than  this.  Lanfranc  revived  re'igion  and 
learning  throughout  the  land  ;  while  William,  though  he 
ruled  sternly,  kept  peace  and  enforced  justice  as  no 
English  King  had  been  strong  enough  to  do  before  him. 
He  was  drawn  however  from  England  in  his  later  days  to 
petty  wars  in  France ;  and  while  lighting  on  the  Norman 
border  found  his  death,  while  entering  the  town  of  Mantes 
which  he  had  besieged.] 

An  imprudent  sally  of  the  inhabitants  of  Mantes,  with 
the  intention  of  saving  their  crops,  enabled  William  to  enter 
their  town,  which  was  fired  by  the  soldiery.  Churches  and 
dwellings  alike  sank  in  the  flames,  many  of  the  inhabitants 
perished,  even  the  recluses  were  burned  in  their  cells. 
William,  aged  and  unwieldy  in  body,  yet  impetuous  and 
active  in  mind,  cheered  the  desolation,  and  galloped  about 
and  about  through  the  burning  ruins.  His  steed  stumbled 
amidst  the  glowing  embers  :  the  royal  rider  received  a  fatal 
injury  from  his  fall.  A  lingering  inflammation  ensued, 
which  the  skill  of  his  attendants  could  neither  allay  nor 
heal.  He  called  in  Gilbert  Maminot,  Bishop  of  Lisieux, 
and  Gunthard,  Abbot  of  Jumieges,  both  well  competent  to 
comfort  him,  if  he  could  be  comforted,  in  body  and  in  mind. 
The  noise,  the  disturbance,  the  tainted  atmosphere  of 
Rouen,  became  intolerable  to  the  fevered  sufferer,  and  he 
was  painfully  removed  to  the  conventual  buildings  of  St. 
Gervase,  on  the  adjoining  hill.  The  inward  combustion 
spread  so  rapidly  that  no  hope  of  recovery  remained,  and 
William  knew  that  there  was  none. 

Firmly  contemplating  the  end,  and  yet  dreading  its  app- 
proach,  he'  sent  for  Rufus  1  and  Henry,  his  sons ;  and  now 
ensued   that  conflict  of  feeling  never  entirely  absent  from 

1  William  Rufus,  or  the  Red,  was  his  second  son  j  Henry  his 
youngest. 


DEATH  OF  THE  CONQUEROR.  51 

the  death-bed,  but  sometimes  so  painfully  visible,  when, 
as  personified  in  the  symbolical  printings  of  old,  we  be- 
hold the  good  angel  and  the  evil  demon  contending  for 
the  mastery  of  the  departing  soul  :  the  clinging  to  earthly 
things  with  a  deep  consciousness  of  their  worthlessness, 
self-condemnation,  and  self-deceit,  repentance,  and  obdu- 
racy, the  scales  of  the  balance  trembling  between  heaven 
and  hell.  "No  tongue  can  tell,"  said  William,  "the  deeds 
of  wickedness  I  have  perpetrated  in  my  weary  pilgrimage  of 
toil  and  care."  He  deplored  his  birth,  born  to  warfare, 
polluted  by  bloodshed  from  his  earliest  years,  his  trials,  the 
base  ingratitude  he  had  sustained.  He  also  extolled  his 
own  virtues,  praised  his  own  conscientious  appointments 
in  the  Church:  expatiated  upon  his  good  deeds,  his  alms, 
and  the  monasteries  and  nunneries  which  under  his  reign 
had  been  founded  by  his  munificence. 

But  Rufus  and  Henry  were  standing  by  that  bed-side,  and 
who  was  to  be  the  Conqueror's  heir  ?  How  were  his  dominions 
to  be  divided?  William  must  speak  of  his  earthly  authority; 
but  every  word  relating  to  the  object  of  his  pride  was  uttered 
in  agony.  Robert,  as  first-born,  was  to  take  Normandy :  it 
was  granted  to  him  before  William  met  Harold  in  the  field 
of  the  valley  of  blood.  "Wretched,"  declared  the  King, 
"will  be  the  country  subjected  to  his  rule;  but  he  has  re- 
ceived the  homage  of  the  barons,  and  the  concession,  once 
made,  cannot  be  withdrawn.  Of  England,  I  will  appoint 
no  heir :  let  Him  in  whose  hands  are  all  things,  provide 
according  to  His  will." 

A  night  of  somewhat  diminished  suffering  ensued,  when 
the  troubled  and  expiring  body  takes  a  dull,  painful,  un- 
restful  rest  before  its  last  earthly  repose.  But  as  the  cheer- 
ful, life-giving  rays  of  the  rising  sun  were  darting  above  the 
horizon,  across  the  sad  apartment,  and  shedding  brightness 
on  its  walls,  William  was  half  awakened  from  his  imperfect 


-2        PROSE  KFADtNGS  FROM  ENGLISH    HISTORY. 

slumbers  by  the  measured,  mellow,  reverberating  swelling 
tone  of  the  great  cathedral  bell.  "  It  is  the  hour  of  prime," 
replied  the  attendants  in  answer  to  his  inquiry.  Then  were 
the  priesthood  welcoming  with  voices  of  thanksgiving  the 
renewed  gift  of  another  day,  and  sending  forth  the  choral 
prayer,  that  the  hours  might  flow  in  holiness  till  blessed  at 
their  close.  But  his  time  of  labour  and  struggle,  sin  and 
repentance,  was  past.  William  lifted  up  his  hands  in  prayer 
and  expired.  As  was  very  common  in  those  times,  the 
death  of  the  great  and  rich  was  the  signal  for  a  scene  of  dis- 
graceful neglect  and  confusion.  The  King's  sons  had 
already  departed  :  all  who  remained  of  higher  degree  rushed 
out  to  horse,  each  hastening  to  his  home,  for  the  purpose  of 
protecting  his  property  against  the  dreaded  confusion  of  an 
interregnum,  or  preparing  to  augment  it.  Those  of  meaner 
rank,  the  servants  and  ribalds  of  the  court,  stripped  the 
corpse,  even  of  its  last  garments,  plundered  every  article 
within  reach,  and  then,  all  quitting  him,  left  William's 
body  lying  naked  on  the  floor. 

Consternation  and  apathy  were,  after  some  hours,  dimin- 
ished. The  clergy  recollected  their  duty,  and  offered  up 
the  prayers  of  the  Church  ;  and  the  Archbishop  directed 
that  the  body  should  be  conveyed  to  Caen.  But  there  was 
no  one  to  take  charge  of  the  obsequies,  not  one  of  those 
who  were  connected  with  William  by  consanguinity,  or 
bound  to  him  by  blood  or  by  gratitude ;  and  the  duty  was 
performed  by  the  care  and  charity  of  Herlouin,  a  knight  of 
humble  fortune,  who  himself  defrayed  the  expenses,  grieved 
at  the  indignity  to  which  the  mortal  spoil  of  the  Sovereign 
was  exposed,  and  who,  as  the  only  mourner,  attended  the 
coffin  during  its  conveyance  to  Caen.  At  the  gates  of  Caen, 
clergy  and  laity  came  forth  to  receive  the  hody,  but  at  that 
very  time  flames  arose,  the  streets  were  filled  with  heavy 
smoke :    a  fire  had  broken  out  which  destroyed  good  part 


ANSELM'S  ELECTION.  53 

of  the  city:  the  procession  was  dispersed,  and  the  monks 
alone  remained.  They  brought  the  body  to  St.  Stephen's 
monastery,  and  took  order  for  the  royal  sepulture. 

The  grave  was  dug  deep  in  the  presbytery,  between  altar 
and  choir.  All  the  bishops  and  abbots  of  Normandy 
assembled.  After  mass  had  been  sung,  Gilbjrt,  Bishop  of 
Evreux,  addressed  the  people  :  and  when  he  had  magnified 
the  fame  of  the  departed,  he  asked  them  all  to  join  in 
prayer  for  the  sinful  soul ;  and  that  each  would  pardon  any 
injury  he  might  have  received  from  the  monarch.  A  loud 
voice  was  now  heard  from  the  crowd.  A  poor  man  stood 
up  before  the  bier,  Asceline,  the  son  of  Arthur,  who 
forbade  that  William's  corpse  should  be  received  into 
the  ground  he  had  usurped  by  reckless  violence.  The 
Bishop  forthwith  instituted  an  inquiry  into  the  charge. 
They  called  up  witnesses,  and  the  fact  having  been  ascer- 
tained, they  treated  with  Asceline  and  paid  the  debt,  the 
price  of  that  narrow  little  plot  of  earth,  the  last  bed  of 
the  Conqueror.  Asceline  withdrew  his  ban ;  but  as  the 
swollen  corpse  sank  into  the  grave,  it  burst,  filling  the 
sacred  edifice  with  corruption.  The  obsequies  were  hurried 
through,  and  thus  was  William  the  Conqueror  gathered  to 
his  fathers,  with  loathing,  disgust,  and  horror. 


XII. 

ANSELM'S    ELECTION. 

CHURCH. 

[As  William  had  feared,  the  reign  of  his  son,  the  Red 
King,  proved  a  curse  to  England.  The  nobles  indeed 
were  held  firmly  down,  and  peace  was  enforced.  But  the 
land  was  vexed   with  heavy  taxes  and   sore   oppression  ; 


54        lJKOSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

while  the  Church  suffered  from  the  King's  extortion,  its 
bishoprics  and  greater  abbacies  being  left  vacant  that 
their  revenues  might  go  to  the  King's  treasury.  But  so 
stern  was  the  King  that  none  dared  withstand  him,  till  a 
sore  sickness  brought  him  for  a  while  to  repent.  He 
consented  to  fill  the  see  of  Canterbury,  which  had  been 
left  vacant  since  Lanfranc's  death,  and  named  to  it  the 
good  Abbot  of  Bee,  Anselm.] 

Anselm  was  born  about  1033  at  Aosta,1  or  in  its  neigh- 
bourhood. The  scenery  of  his  birthplace,  "  wild  Aosta, 
lulled  by  the  Alpine  rills,"  is  familiar  to  the  crowds  who 
are  yearly  attracted  to  its  neighbourhood  by  the  love  of 
Alpine  grandeur  and  the  interest  of  Alpine  adventure,  and 
who  pass  through  it  on  their  way  to  and  from  the  peaks 
and  valleys  of  the  wonderful  region  round  it.2  The  district 
itself  is  a  mountain  land,  but  one  with  the  richness  and 
warmth  of  the  South,  as  it  descends  towards  the  level  of  the 
river,  the  Dora  Baltea,  which  carries  the  glacier  torrents 
from  the  mountains  round  Mont  Blanc  and  the  Matterhorn 
to  the  plains  where  they  meet  the  Po.  Great  ridges  mask- 
ing the  huge  masses  of  the  high  Alps  behind  them,  flank  its 
long  valley  as  it  runs  straight  from  east  to  west.  Closely 
overhanging  the  city  on  the  south  rises  rapidly  a  wall  of 
sub-alpine  mountain,  for  great  part  of  the  day  in  shadow, 
torn  by  ravines,  with  woods  and  pastures  hanging  on  its 
steep  flanks,  and  with  white  houses  gleaming  among  them,  but 
towering  up  at  last  into  the  dark  precipices  of  the  Becca  di 
Nona  and  the  peak  of  Mont  Emilius.  At  the  upper  end 
of  the  valley,  towards  the  west,  seen  over  a  vista  of  walnuts, 
chestnuts,  and  vines,  appear  high  up  in  the  sky,  resting  as 
it  were  on  the  breast  of  the  great  hills,  the  white  glaciers  ot 
the  Ruitor,   bright  in  sunshine,   or   veiled  by  storms ;  and 

1  In  the  north  of  Piedmont.  2  Switzerland  lies  to  the 

north  of  Aosta. 


ANSELM'S  ELECTION.  55 

fiuni  the  bridge  over  the  torrent  which  rushes  by  the  city 
from  the  north,  the  eye  goes  up  to  the  everlasting  snows  of 
the  "domed  Velan"  and  the  majestic  broken  Pikes  of 
.he  Grand  Combin. 

The  only  trace  of  the  influence  on  Anselm  of  the  scenery 
in  the  midst  of  which  he  grew  up  is  found  in  the  story  of  a 
boyish  dream  which  made  an  impression  on  him,  as  it  is 
one  of  the  few  details  about  his  life  at  Aosla  which,  doubt- 
less from  his  own  mouth,  Eadmer 3  has  preserved.  The 
story  is  not  without  a  kind  of  natural  grace,  and  fits  in  like 
a  playful  yet  significant  overture  to  the  history  of  his  life. 
•'  Anselm,"  it  says,  "when  he  was  a  little  child,  used  gladly 
to  listen,  as  far  as  his  age  allowed,  to  his  mother's  conversa- 
tion ;  and  having  heard  from  her  that  there  is  one  God  in 
heaven  above,  ruling  all  things  and  containing  all  things,  he 
imagined,  like  a  boy  bred  up  among  the  mountains,  that 
heaven  rested  on  the  mountains,  that  the  palace  of  God  was 
there,  and  that  the  way  to  it  was  up  the  mountains.  His 
thoughts  ran  much  upon  this  ;  and  it  came  to  pass  on  a  cer- 
tain night  that  he  dreamed  that  he  ought  to  go  up  to  the 
top  of  the  mountain,  and  hasten  to  the  palace  of  God,  the 
Great  King.  But  before  he  began  to  ascend  he  saw  in  the 
plain  which  reached  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain  women 
reaping  the  corn,  who  were  the  King's  maidens ;  but  they 
did  their  work  very  carelessly  and  slothfully.  The  boy 
grieved  at  their  sloth,  and  rebuking  it,  settled  in  his 
mind  to  accuse  them  before  the  Lord  the  King.  So  having 
pressed  on  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  he  came  into  the 
palace  of  the  King.  There  he  found  the  Lord  with  only 
his  chief  butler  :  for,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  all  the  household 
had  been  sent  to  gather  the  harvest ;  for  it  was  autumn. 
So  he  went  in  and  the  Lord  called  him  ;  and  he  drew  near 
and    sat    at    his   feet.      Then    the    Lord  asked    him    with 

'*  His  biographer 


56       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

gracious  kindness  who  he  was  and  whence  he  came,  and 
what  he  wanted.  He  answered  according  to  the  truth.  Then 
the  Lord  commanded,  and  bread  of  the  whitest  was  brought 
to  him  by  the  chief  butler ;  and  he  ate  and  was  refreshed 
before  the  Lord.  Therefore  in  the  morning,  when  he  re- 
called what  he  had  seen  before  the  eyes  of  his  mind,  he 
believed,  like  a  simple  and  innocent  child,  that  he  really 
had  been  in  heaven,  and  had  been  refreshed  by  the  bread 
of  the  Lord  ;  and  so  he  declared  publicly  before  others." 

Anselm's  biographer,  perhaps  he  himself  in  after  life,  saw 
the  hand  of  providence  in  his  father's  harshness  to  him, 
which  no  submission  could  soften,  and  which  at  last  drove 
him  in  despair  to  leave  his  home,  and,  after  the  fashion  of 
his  countrymen,  to  seek  his  fortune  in  strange  lands.  Italians, 
especially  Lombards,4  meet  us  continually  in  the  records 
and  letters  of  this  time  as  wanderers,  adventurers,  monks  in 
Normandy  and  even  England.  He  crossed  Mont  Cenis 
with  a  single  clerk  for  his  attendant,  and  he  did  not  forget 
the  risk  and  fatigue  of  the  passage.  Then  following  per- 
haps the  track  of  another  Italian,  Lanfranc  of  Pavia,  he 
came  to  Normandy,  and  remained  for  a  time  at  Avranches, 
where  Lanfranc  had  once  taught.  Finally  he  followed  Lan- 
franc, now  a  famous  master,  to  the  monastery  where  he  had 
become  prior,  the  newly-founded   monastery  of  Bee. 

[At  Bee  Anselm  rose  from  being  monk  to  the  posts  of 
prior  and  abbot,  gathering  as  years  went  by  a  fame  for 
learning  and  for  holiness  yet  greater  than  that  of  his  prede- 
cessor Lanfranc.  It  was  on  a  visit  to  England  at  the  time 
when  the  Red  King  lay  sick  almost  to  death  that  William 
named  him  to  the  See  of  Canterbury.] 

When  the  King's  choice  was  announced  to  Anselm,  he 
trembled   and   turned   pale.     The  bishops  came   to  bring 

4  People  of  north  Italy. 


ANSELM'S  ELECTION.  57 

him  to  the  King,  to  receive  the  investiture  of  the  arch- 
bishopric in  the  customary  way,  by  the  delivery  of  a  pas- 
toral staff.  Anselm  absolutely  refused  to  go.  Then  the 
bishops  took  him  aside  from  the  bystanders,  and  expostu- 
lated with  him.  "  What  did  he  mean  ?  How  could  he 
strive  against  God  ?  He  saw  Christianity  almost  destroyed 
in  England,  all  kinds  of  wickedness  rampant,  the  churches 
of  God  nigh  dead  by  this  man's  tyranny  ;  and  when  he 
could  help,  he  scorned  to  do  so."  "  It  is  no  use,"  he 
said;  "what  you  propose  shall  not  be."  At  last  they 
dragged  him  by  main  force  to  the  sick  King's  room : 
William,  in  his  anguish  and  fear,  was  deeply  anxious  about 
the  matter,  and  entreated  him  with  tears,  by  the  memory  of 
his  father  and  mother,  who  had  been  Anselm's  friends,  to 
deliver  their  son  from  the  deadly  peril  in  which  he  stood. 
The  sick  man's  distress  moved  some  of  the  bystanders,  and 
they  turned  with  angry  remonstrances  on  Anselm.  "  What 
senseless  folly  this  was  1  The  King  could  not  bear  this 
agitation.  Anselm  was  embittering  his  dying  hours ;  and 
on  him  would  rest  the  responsibility  of  all  the  mischiefs 
that  would  follow,  if  he  would  not  do  his  part  by  accept- 
ing the  pastoral  charge." 

Anselm  in  his  trouble  appealed  for  encouragement  to 
two  of  his  monks,  Baldwin  and  Eustace,  who  were 
with  him.  "Ah,  my  brethren,  why  do  not  you  help 
me?"  "Might  it  have  been  the  will  of  God,"  he  used 
to  say,  speaking  of  those  moments,  "  I  would,  if  I  had 
the  choice,  gladly  have  died,  rather  than  been  raised  to 
the  archbishopric."  Baldwin  could  only  speak  of  submit- 
ting to  the  will  of  God  ;  and  burst,  says  Eadmer,  into  a 
passion  of  tears,  blood  gushing  from  his  nostrils.  "  Alas  ! 
vour  staff  is  soon  broken,"  said  Anselm.  Then  the  king 
bade  diem  all  fall  at  Anselm's  feet  to  implore  his 
assent  ;    he,    in     his    turn,     fell    down    before    them,    still 


FROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY 

holding  to  his  refusal.  Finally,  they  lost  patience  ;  they 
were  angry  with  him,  and  with  themselves  for  their  own 
irresolution.  The  cry  arose,  "  A  pastoral  staff !  a  pastoral 
staff!  "  They  dragged  him  to  the  King's  bed-side,  and  held 
out  his  right  arm  to  receive  the  staff.  But  when  the  King 
presented  it,  Anselm  kept  his  hand  firmly  clenched  and 
would  not  take  it.  They  tried  by  main  force  to  wrench  it 
open ;  and  when  he  cried  out  with  the  pain  of  their  vio- 
lence, they  at  last  held  the  staff  closely  p.essed  against 
his  still  closed  hand.  Amid  the  shouts  of  the  crowd,  "Long 
live  the  Bishop!"  with  the  Te  Deum  of  the  bishops  and 
clergy,  "  he  was  carried,  rather  than  led,  to  a  neighbouring 
church,  still  crying  out,  It  is  nought  that  ye  are  doing,  it  is 
nought  that  ye  are  doing."  He  himself  describes  the  scene 
in  a  letter  to  his  monks  at  Bee.  "  It  would  have  been  diffi- 
cult to  make  out  whether  madmen  were  dragging  along  one 
in  his  senses,  or  sane  men  a  madman,  save  that  they  were 
chanting,  and  I,  pale  with  amazement  and  pain,  looked 
more  like  one  dead  than  alive." 


XIII. 

DEATH  OF  THE  RED  KING. 

PALGRAVE. 

[Reluctant  as  Anselm  was  to  be  made  Archbishop,  when 
once  installed  in  his  see  he  resolutely  withstood  the  king. 
Rufus  recovered  from  his  illness  only  to  fall  back  into  his 
old  oppression  and  greed  ;  but  though  all  others  bent  to 
him,  he  could  not  bend  Anselm.  His  steady  rebukes  at 
last  goaded  William  to  drive  him  from  England  ;  and  from 
that  day  the  King's  ill  rule  went  on  without  a  check.  At 
last  Rufus  was  found  slain  by  an  anx>w  in  the  New  Forest, 
whether  by  chance  or  of  set  purpose  was  never  known.] 


DEATH  OF  THE  RED  KING.  ?) 

On  the  first  day  of  August,  the  feast  of  St.  Peter  ad 
Vincula,  Lammas  Day,  Rufus  assembled  a  large  and  jovial 
party  in  the  leafy  lodge  of  the  Lindwood,  the  Dragon's- 
Wood,  the  most  pleasant  of  his  bowers. — His  brothel 
Henry,  William  de  Breteuil,  Gilbert  de  Aquila,  Gilbert  Fitz- 
Richard,  Robert  FitzHamo,  Ralph  de  Aix,  or  de  Aquis, 
and  Walter  Tyrrell  :  together  with  a  vast  meisney  !  of  the 
Court-followers,  Prickers,  Verdurers,  Ribalds.— Rufus  never 
moved  unless  encircled  by  the  vilest  ruffianage. 

Rufus  was  exuberant  in  his  conversation,  boisterous  :  he 
addressed  his  conversation  to  Tyrrell  in  particular,  roughly 
and  merrily — insult  mingled  with  whim  and  familiarity. 
The  Chastellain  of  Poix  -  was  excited  up  to  the  same  tone, 
and  flouted  Rufus  in  return.  He  joked  to  teaze  the  King, 
mocked  him,  telling  him  that  whilst  all  was  open  arid  the 
way  clear,  Breton  and  Angevine  at  his  commands,  he  did 
nothing,  in  spite  of  all  his  great  words  and  talk.  Rufus 
became  more  coarse  and  rude,  and,  unmindful  of  any 
national  pride  which  Tyrrell  might  feel,  boasted  how  he 
would  lead  his  army  beyond  the  Alps,  and  hold  his  Court 
at  Poitiers  next  Christmas.3  Tyrrell  laughed  at  such  a 
vaunt.  "  To  the  Alps,  and  back  again  within  so  short  a 
time? — but  if  ever  they  submit  to  the  English,"  continued 
Tyrrell,  "  an  evil  death  may  Frenchman  and  Burgundian 
die  ! "  The  dialogue  began  in  jest,  but  ended  in  anger. 
The  ranting  words  thus  passing  were  marked,  repeated, 
perhaps  exaggerated.  —  It  should  seem  that  few,  if  any,  of 
the  party  could  be  said  to  have  been  in  a  state  of  sobriety. 

Night  closed  in,  the  darkness  brought  a  sudden   sadness 
upon    the  King's  heart  :    when  alone,  how  troubled,  how 

1  Company.  2    Walter  Tyrrell  was  a  French  noble  who 

held  the  castle  of  Poix.  3  Rufus  had  won  Normandy  from 

his  brother,  and  conquered  Maine,  fie  hoped  to  become  master 
of  all  Southern  France,  and  perhaps  to  make  his  way  over  the 
Alps. 


6o      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

unhappy  was  Rufus.  In  the  still  of  the  night,  the  last  night- 
seasou  in  which  he  laid  himself  down  to  sleep,  I  ut  not  m 
peace,  the  attendants  were  startled  by  the  King's  voice ; 
—  a  bitter  cry — a  cry  for  help — a  cry  for  deliverance — he 
had  been  suddenly  awakened  by  a  dreadful  dream,  as  of 
exquisite  anguish  befalling  him  in  a  ruined  Church  at  the 
foot  of  the  Maiwood  rampart. — No  more  would  he  be  left 
alone :  the  extinguished  lamps  were  lighted  in  the  chamber, 
where  Rufus  impatiently  awaited  the  early  morn. 

Dawn  broke  on  Thursday  the  second  of  August, 
the  morrow  of  St.  Peter  ad  Vincula :  Robert  Fitz-Hamo 
entered,  hastily,  anxious,  bearing  tidings  of  a  warning 
given  through  the  dream  of  a  holy  Monk  beyond  the  sea, 
speaking  clearly  of  great  and  threatening  danger :  he  there- 
fore earnestly  supplicated  the  King  not  to  hunt  for  that  one 
day.  Rufus  burst  out  into  a  horse-laugh — "  He  is  a  Monk  ; 
monks  dream  for  money  :  money  let  him  have — an  hundred 
shillings,  his  fitting  guerdon."  Rufus  showed  no  signs  of 
fear,  yet  a  secret  misgiving,  unconfessed  even  to  himself, 
weighed  upon  his  soul.  Many  of  the  party  agreed  with 
Fitz-Hamo,  and  thought  caution  might  be  advisable. 
Rufus  lingered  and  paused.  It  was  their  custom  to  hunt  in 
the  morning-tide,  but  Rufus  postponed  the  sport  till  the 
afternoon,  and  the  mid-day  banquet  was  served  before  him. 
He  indulged  even  more  than  usual  in  food  and  wine  :  the 
debauch  was  prolonged  till  the  decline  of  day,  when  Rufus 
rose,  reeking  from  the  table,  and,  surrounded  by  his  joyous 
companions,  prepared  to  start.  An  Armourer  presented 
the  King  with  six  newly-headed  shafts  for  the  deadly  arba- 
lest.4 Rufus  took  them,  tried  them,  and  selecting  the  two 
keenest,  gave  them  (as  the  confused  report  afterwards  pre- 
vailed) to  Tyrrell,  telling  the  Chastellain  of  Poix  (according 
to  one  of  the  versions  which  became  current)  that  it  was  he 

*  Crossbow. 


DEATH  OF  THE  KKD  KING.  6l 

who  deserved  the  arrow— let  that  bowman  bear  the  prize 
who  can  best  (leal  the  mortal  wound  :  and  others  also 
recounted  that  he  afterwards  cried  out  to  Tyrrell,  Shoot, 
Devil,  or,  Shoot  in  the  DeviPs  name. 

3t ill  more  delay.  Rums  continued  in  vehement  and  idle 
talk  :  the  evening  was  coming  on,  when  Serlo's  messenger 
appeared.5  More  cause  of  laughter  for  Rufus,  mixed  with 
a  nettled  feeling  of  impatient  anger  : — "  It  is  strange,' 
said  he, — "  that  my  Lord  Serlo,  the  wise  and  discreet, 
should  teaze  me,  tired  and  harassed  as  I  am  with  business, 
by  transmitting  to  me  such  stories  and  silly  di earns. 
Does  he  think  I  am  an  Englishman  who  will  put  off  a 
journey  for  an  old  wife's  fancy,  a  token  or  a  sign?" — Hl 
rose  hastily :  the  saddled  steed  was  brought.  Rufus, 
placing  his  foot  in  the  great  stirrup,  vaulted  on  his  courser : 
the  Hunters  now  dispersed,  Henry  in  one  direction,  William 
de  Breteuil  in  another,  Rufus  in  a  third,  dashing  on  towards 
the  depths  of  the  Forest,  through  the  chequered  gleams  of 
transparent  green,  the  lengthened  lines  of  cheerful  shade, 
the  huge  stems  shining  in  the  golden  light  of  the  setting 
sun. 

No  man  ever  owned  that  he  had  spoken  afterwards 
to  Rufus — no  man  owned  to  having  again  heard  the  voice 
of  Rufus,  except  in  the  inarticulate  agonies  of  death. 
Separated  unaccountably  from  his  suite  and  companions, 
Robert  Fitz-Hamo  and  Gilbert  de  Aquila  found  him  ex- 
piring— stretched  on  the  ground,  within  the  walls  of  the 
ruined  Church,  just  below  the  Malwood  Castle,  transpierced 
by  the  shaft  of  a  Norman  arbalest,  the  blood  gurgling  in 
his  throat. 

It  is  said  they  tried  to  pray  with  him,  but  in  vain.   Forth- 
with ensued  a  general  dispersion — Hunters   and  Huntsmen, 

Th:  Abbot  Serlo  had  dreamed  of  the  Kind's  death,  and  sent  to 
im  htm. 


62       PKOSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Earl  and  Churl,  scattering  in  every  direction.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  intelligence  sounded  out  of  the  ground  throughout 
the  Forest.  At  the  same  time  a  consentaneous  outcry  arose, 
no  one  can  tell  how  it  began,  that  Walter  Tyrrell  had  slain 
the  King.  All  the  ruffian  soldiery,  the  ribalds,  the  villain- 
ous and  polluted  Court-retainers,  who  surrounded  Rufus, 
vowing  vengeance  against  the  Traitor,  began  a  hot  pursuit : 
but  while  they  were  chafing  and  scurrying  after  Tyrrell,  many 
would  have  protected  him  ;  either  believing  in  his  innocence, 
or  rejoicing  in  the  deed.  Tyrrell  fled  as  for  his  life,  and 
crossing  the  river,  at  the  ford  which  bears  his  name,  he 
baffled  his  pursuers.  A  yearly  rent,  payable  into  the 
Exchequer  by  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  through  which  the 
water  flows,  is  traditionally  supposed  to  have  been  the  fine 
imposed  for  the  negligence  in  permitting  the  escape  of  the 
accused  Murderer.  Be  this  as  it  may,  Tyrrell  received  no 
further  impediment,  and  passing  over  to  France,  he  settled 
in  his  Seigneury  of  Poix,  where  he  lived  long,  honoured 
and  respected  ;  but  though  holding  (as  it  is  supposed)  lands 
in  Essex,  and  connected  by  marriage  with  the  Giffords,  he 
never  returned  again  to  England. 


XIV. 

THE  BLENDING  OF  CONQUERORS  AND  CONQUERED. 

GREEN. 

On  the  Red  King's  death  the  English  throne  was  seized 
by  his  younger  brother,  Henry  the  First  With  him  the 
disorder  and  oppression  under  which  England  had  suf- 
fered, came  to  an  end.  His  rule  was  as  stern  as  that  of 
his  father,  but  it  was  just  and  orderly,  and  secured  peace 


BLENDING  OF  CONQUERORS  AND  CONQUERED.   63 

and  justice  for  the  people  through  a  reign  of  thirty  years. 
In  this  long  period  of  rest  the  Normans  and  Englishmen 
drew  quietly  and  unconsciously  together  into  one  people, 
and  all  distinction  of  conquerors  and  conquered  was  lost. 
Henry  himself  led  the  way  in  this  fusion  of  the  two  races 
by  his  marriage  with  Matilda,  a  daughter  of  the  Scottish 
King  by  his  English  wife,  and  thus  a  representative  of 
the  old  English  royal  blood.] 

On  his  accession  Henry  promised  to  restore  the  law  of 
Eadward  the  Confessor,  in  other  words,  the  old  constitution 
of  the  realm,  with  the  changes  which  his  father1  had  intro- 
duced. His  marriage  gave  a  significance  to  these  promises 
which  the  meanest  English  peasant  could  understand. 
Edith,  or  Matilda,  was  the  daughter  of  King  Malcolm  of 
Scotland  and  of  Margaret,  the  sister  of  Eadgar  ^Etheling. 
She  had  been  brought  up  in  the  nunnery  of  Romsey  by  its 
abbess,  her  aunt  Christina,  and  the  veil'2  which  she  had  taken 
there  formed  an  obstacle  to  her  union  with  the  King,  which 
was  only  removed  by  the  wisdom  of  Anslem.  The  Arch- 
bishop's recall  had  been  one  of  Henry's  first  acts  after  his 
accession,  and  Matilda  appeared  before  his  court  to  tell 
Icr  tale  in  words  of  passionate  earnestness.  She  had  been 
veiled  in  her  childhood,  she  asserted,  only  to  save  her  from 
the  insults  of  the  rude  soldiery  who  infested  the  land,3  had 
flung  the  veil  from  her  again  and  again,  and  had  yielded  at 
last  to  the  unwomanly  taunts,  the  actual  blows  of  her  aunt. 
"  As  often  as  I  stood  in  her  presence,"  the  girl  pleaded 
passionately  to  the  saintly  Primate,  "  I  wore  the  veil,  trem- 
bling as  I  wore  it  with  indignation  and  grief.  But  as  soon 
as  I  could  get  out  of  her  sight  I  used  to  snatch  it  from  my 
head,   fling  it  on  the  ground,   and  trample  it  under  foot. 

1   William  the  Conqueror.  2  Taking  the  veil  was  the 

ceicmony  by  which  a  woman  became  a  nun.  3  At  the  time 

of  the  Conquest  and  during  the  reign  of  Rufus. 

4 


64        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

That  was  the  way,  and  none  other,  in  which  I  was  veiled." 
Anslem  at  once  declared  her  free  from  conventual  bonds, 
and  the  shout  of  the  English  multitude  when  he  set  the 
crown  on  Matilda's  brow  drowned  the  murmur  of  Church- 
man or  of  baron.  The  taunts  of  the  Norman  nobles,  who 
nicknamed  the  King  and  his  spouse  in  irony  Godric  and 
Godfigu,  were  lost  in  the  joy  of  the  people  at  large.  For 
the  first  time  since  the  Conquest  an  English  sovereign  sat 
on  the  English  throne.  The  blood  of  Cerdic  4  and  yElfred 
was  to  blend  itself  with  that  of  Rolf5  and  the  Conqueror. 
It  was  impossible  that  the  two  peoples  should  henceforth 
be  severed  from  one  another,  and  their  fusion  proceeded  so 
rapidly  that  the  name  of  Norman  had  passed  away  at  the 
accession  of  Henry  the  Second,  and  the  descendants  of  the 
victors  at  Senlac  6  boasted  themselves  to  be  Englishmen. 

We  can  dimly  trace  the  progress  of  this  blending  of  the 
two  races  together  in  the  case  of  the  burgher  population  in 
the  towns. 

One  immediate  result  of  the  Conquest  had  been  a  great 
immigration  into  England  from  the  Continent.  A  peaceful 
invasion  of  the  industrial  and  trading  classes  of  Normandy 
followed  quick  on  the  conquest  of  the  Norman  soldiery. 
Every  Norman  noble  as  he  quartered  himself  upon  English 
lands,  every  Norman  abbot  as  he  entered  his  English  cloister, 
gathered  French  artists  or  French  domestics  around  his  new 
castle  or  his  new  church.  Around  the  Abbey  of  Battle, 
for  instance,  which  William  7  had  founded  on  the  site  of  his 
great  victory,  "Gilbert  the  Foreigner,  Gilbert  the  Weaver, 
Benet  the  Steward,  Hugh  the  Secretary,  Baldwin  the  Tailor," 
mixed  with  the  English  tenantry.     More  especially  was  this 

4  The  C07iqueror  of  IVessex  and  head  of  the  lines  of  West- 
Saxon  kings.  6  The  conqueror  of  Normandy  and  ancestor 
of  its  dukes.  6  Or  the  battle  of  Hastings.  7  Tlie 
Conqueror. 


BLENDING  OF  CONQUERORS  AND  CONQUERED.     65 

the  case  with  the  capital.  Long  before  the  landing  of  William 
the  Normans  had  had  mercantile  establishments  in  London, 

Their  settlement  would  naturally  have  remained  a  mere 
trailing  colony,  but  London  had  no  sooner  submitted  to 
the  Conqueror  than  "many  of  the  citizens  of  Rouen  and 
Caen5  passed  over  thither,  preferring  to  be  dwellers  in  this 
city,  inasmuch  as  it  was  fitter  for  their  trading,  and  better 
stored  with  the  merchandise  in  which  they  were  wont  to 
traffic."  At  Norwich  and  elsewhere  the  French  colony  iso- 
lated itself  in  a  separate  French  town,  side  by  side  with 
the  English  borough.  In  London  it  seems  to  have  taken  at 
once  the  position  of  a  governing  class.  The  name  of  Gilbert 
Beket,  the  father  of  the  famous  Archbishop,  is  one  of  the 
few  that  remain  to  us  of  the  Portreeves6  of  London,  the 
predecessors  of  its  mayors;  he  held  in  Stephen's  time  a 
large  property  in  houses  within  the  walls,  and  a  proof  of 
his  civic  importance  was  preserved  in  the  annual  visit  of 
each  newly-elected  chief  magistrate  to  his  tomb  in  the  little 
chapel  which  he  had  founded  in  the  churchyard  of  St. 
Paul's.  Yet  Gilbert  was  one  of  the  Norman  strangers  who 
followed  in  the  wake  of  the  Conqueror  j  he  was  by  birth  a 
burgher  of  Rouen,  as  his  wife  was  of  a  burgher  family  from 
Caen. 

It  was  partly  to  this  infusion  of  foreign  blood,  partly  no 
doubt  to  the  long  internal  peace  and  order  secured  by  the 
Norman  rule,  that  the  English  towns  owed  the  wealth  and 
importance  to  which  they  attained  during  the  reign  of  Henry 
the  First.  In  the  silent  growth  and  elevation  of  the  English 
people  the  boroughs  led  the  way :  unnoticed  and  despised 
by  prelate  and  noble,  they  had  alone  preserved  the  full 
tradition  of  Teutonic  liberty.    The  rights  of  self-government, 

1  The  chief  towns  of  Nortnandy.  6  Port- reeve,  the  reeve  or 
roy  il  officer  over  a  "port"  or  town;  as  sheriff  or  shire-reeve  is 
the  royal  officer  over  a  county  or  shire 


66       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

of  free  speech  in  free  meeting,  of  equal  justice  by  one's 
equals,  were  brought  safely  across  the  ages  of  Norman 
tyranny  by  the  traders  and  shopkeepers  of  the  towns.  In 
the  quiet,  quaintly-named  streets,  in  town-mead  and  market- 
place, in  the  lord's  mill 7  beside  the  stream,  in  the  bell 
which  swung  out  its  summons  to  the  crowded  borough-mote,8 
in  the  jealousies  of  craftsmen  and  gilds,9  lay  the  real  life  of 
Englishmen,  the  life  of  their  home  and  trade,  their  ceaseless, 
sober  struggle  with  oppression,  their  steady,  unwearied  battle 
for  self-government.  It  is  difficult  to  trace  the  steps  by 
which  borough  after  borough  won  its  freedom.  The  bulk 
of  them  were  situated  in  the  royal  demesne,10  and,  like  other 
tenants,  their  customary  rents  were  collected  and  justice 
administered  by  a  royal  officer.  Amongst  such  towns  London 
stood  chief,  and  the  charter  which  Henry  granted  it  became 
the  model  for  the  rest.  The  King  yielded  the  citizens  the 
right  of  justice ;  every  townsman  could  claim  to  be  tried 
by  his  fellow-townsmen  in  the  town-courts  or  hustings, 
whose  sessions  took  place  every  week.  They  were  subject 
onl)  to  the  old  English  trial  by  oath,  and  exempt  from  the 
trial  by  battle,  which  the  Normans  had  introduced.  Their 
trade  was  protected  from  toll  or  exaction  over  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  land. 

The  King  however  still  nominated,  in  London  and  else- 
where, the  Portreeve,  or  magistrate  of  the  town,  nor  were 
the  citizens  as  yet  united  together  in  a  commune  or  cor- 
poration ;  but  an  imperfect  civic  organization  existed  in  the 
"wards"  or  quarters  of  the  town,  each  governed  by  its  own 
alderman,  and  in  the  "gilds"  or  voluntary  associations  of 
merchants  or  traders  which  ensured  order  and  mutual  pro- 

7  Men  were  forced  to  carry  their  wheat  to  be  ground  at  their 
lonts  mill.  8  Meeting  of  the  townsmen  for  self-government. 

,J  Trade  companies.  w  Land  where  no  noble  but  the  king 

was  lord. 


BLENDING  OF  CONQUERORS  AND  CONQUERED.     67 

lection  for  their  memb  irs.  Loose  too  as  these  bonds  may 
m,  they  were  drawn  firmly  together  by  the  older  English 
traditions  of  freedom  which  the  towns  preserved.  In  Lon- 
don,  for  instance,  the  luirgesses  gathered  in  town-mote 
when  the  bell  swung  out  from  St.  Paul's  to  deliberate  freely 
on  their  own  affairs  under  the  presidency  of  their  aldermen. 
Here  too  they  mustered  in  arms,  if  dangers  threatened  the 
city,  and  delivered  the  city-banner  to  their  captain,  the 
Norman  baron  Fitz-Walter,  to  lead  them  against  the  enemy. 
Few  boroughs  had  as  yet  attained  to  power  such  as  this, 
but  charter  after  charter  during  Henry's  reign  raised  the 
townsmen  of  boroughs  from  mere  traders,  wholly  at  the 
mercy  of  their  lord,  into  customary  tenants,11  who  had  pur- 
chased their  freedom  by  a  fixed  rent,  regulated  their  own 
trade,  and  enjoyed  exemption  from  all  but  their  own 
just  1 

The  advance  of  towns  which  had  grown  up  not  on  the 
1  demesne,  but  around  abbey  or  castle,  was  slower  and 
more  difficult.  The  story  of  Bury  St.  Edmund's  shows  how 
gradual  was  the  transition  from  pure  serfage  to  an  imperfect 
freedom.  Much  that  was  plough-land  there  in  the  time  of 
the  Confessor  was  covered  with  houses  under  the  Norman 
rule.  The  building  of  the  great  abbey-church  drew  its 
craftsmen  and  masons  to  mingle  with  the  ploughmen  and 
reapers  of  the  abbot's  demesne.  The  troubles  of  the  time 
helped  here  as  elsewhere  the  progress  of  the  town  ;  serfs, 
fugitives  from  justice  or  their  lord,  the  trader,  the  Jew, 
naturally  sought  shelter  under  the  strong  hand  of  St. 
Edmund.  But  the  settlers  were  wholly  at  the  abbot's  mercy. 
Not  a  settler  but  was  bound  to  pay  his  pence  to  the  abbot's 
treasury,  to  plough  a  rood  of  his  land,  to  reap  in  his  harvest 
fieid.  to  fold  his  sheep  in  the  abbey  folds,  to  help  to  bring  the 

Tenants   secure  of  their  holding  so  long  as  they  paid  the 
customary  1  •',■/  labour  or  dues  in  money. 


63        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

annual  catch  of  eels  from  the  abbey  waters.  Within  the 
four  crosses  that  bounded  the  abbot's  domain,  land  and 
water  were  his ;  the  cattle  of  the  townsmen  paid  for  their 
pasture  on  the  common ;  if  the  fullers  refused  the  loan  of 
their  cloth,  the  cellarer12  would  refuse  the  use  of  the  stream, 
and  seize  their  looms  wherever  he  found  them.  No  toil 
might  be  levied  from  tenants  of  the  abbey  farms,  and  cus- 
tomers had  to  wait  before  shop  and  stall  till  the  buyers  of 
the  abbot  had  had  the  pick  of  the  market.  There  was  little 
chance  of  redress,  for  if  burghers  complained  in  the  folk- 
mote,  it  was  before  the  abbot's  officers  that  its  meeting  was 
held ;  if  they  appealed  to  the  alderman,  he  was  the  abbot's 
nominee,  and  received  the  horn,  the  symbol  of  his  office,  at 
the  abbot's  hands.  Like  all  the  greater  revolutions  of  society, 
the  advance  from  this  mere  serfage  was  a  silent  one ;  indeed 
its  more  galling  instances  of  oppression  seem  to  have  slipped 
unconsciously  away.  Some,  like  the  eel-fishing,  were  com- 
muted for  an  easy  rent ;  others,  like  the  slavery  of  the 
fullers  and  the  toll  of  flax,  simply  disappeared.  By  usage, 
by  omission,  by  downright  forgetfulness,  here  by  a  little 
struggle,  there  by  a  present  to  a  needy  abbot,  the  town  won 
freedom. 

The  moral  revolution  which  events  like  this  indicate  was 
backed  by  a  religious  revival  which  forms  a  marked  feature 
in  the  reign  of  Henry  the  First.  Pious,  learned,  and  ener- 
getic as  the  bishops  of  William's  13  appointment  had  been, 
they  were  not  Englishmen.  Till  Beket's  time  no  English- 
man occupied  the  throne  of  Canterbury ;  till  Jocelyn,  in  the 
reign  of  John,  no  Englishman  occupied  the  see  of  Wells, 
In  language,  in  manner,  in  sympathy,  the  higher  clergy  were 
thus  completely  severed  from  the  lower  priesthood  and  the 
people,  and  the  whole  influence  of  the  Church,  constitutional 

12  The  officer  of  the  abbey  who  dealt  with  its  tenants. 

13  The  Conqueror's. 


BLENDING  OF  CONQUERORS  AND  CONQUERED.  69 

as  well  as  religious,  was  for  the  moment  paralyzed.  Lanfranc 
indeed  exercized  a  great  personal  influence  over  William  j 
but  Anselm  stood  alone  against  Rufus,  and  no  other  voice 
of  ecclesiastical  freedom  broke  the  silence  of  the  reign  of 
Henry  the  First  But  at  the  close  of  the  latter  reign  and 
throughout  that  of  Stephen,11  the  people,  left  thus  without 
shepherds,  was  stirred  by  the  first  of  those  great  religious 
movements  which  England  was  to  experience  afterwards  in 
the  preaching  of  the  Friars,  the  Lollardism  of  Wyclif,  the 
Reformation,  the  Puritan  enthusiasm,  and  the  mission-work 
of  the  Wesleys.  Everywhere  in  town  and  country  men 
banded  themselves  together  for  prayer,  hermits  flocked 
to  the  woods,  noble  and  churl Vj  welcomed  the  austere 
Cistercians,  a  reformed  oulshoot  of  the  Benedictine  order, 
as  they  spread  over  the  moors  and  forests  of  the  North.  A 
new  spirit  of  devotion  woke  the  slumber  of  the  religious 
houses,  and  penetrated  alike  to  the  home  of  the  noble 
Walter  d'Espec  at  Rievaulx,  or  of  the  trader  Gilbert  Beket 
in  Cheapside. 

London  took  its  full  share  in  the  great  revival.  The  city 
was  proud  of  its  religion,  its  thirteen  conventual  and  more 
than  a  hundred  parochial  churches.  The  new  impulse 
changed,  in  fact,  its  very  aspect.  In  the  midst  of  the  city 
Bishop  Richard  busied  himself  with  the  vast  cathedral10 
which  Bishop  Maurice  had  begun ;  barges  came  up  the  river 
with  stone  from  Caen  for  the  great  arches  that  moved  the 
popular  wonder,  while  street  and  lane  were  being  levelled 
to  make  space  for  the  famous  churchyard  of  St.  Paul's. 
Rahere,  the  King's  minstrel,  raised  the  priory  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew beside  Smithfield,  Alfune  built  St.  Giles's  at 
Cripplegate.      The  old  English   Cnihtena-gild    surrendered 


1  Stephen  succeeded  Henry  the  First.  y>  Labourer. 

"'  Of  St.  Paul. 


70        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

their  soke  1T  of  Aldgate  as  a  site  for  the  new  priory  of  the 
Holy  Trinity.  The  tale  of  this  house  paints  admirably  the 
temper  of  the  citizens  at  this  time.  Its  founder,  Prior 
Norman,  had  built  church  and  cloister  and  bought  books 
and  vestments  in  so  liberal  a  fashion  that  at  last  no  money 
remained  to  buy  bread.  The  canons  were  at  their  last  gasp 
when  many  of  the  city  folk,  looking  into  the  refectory  as 
they  paced  round  the  cloisters  in  their  usual  Sunday  pro- 
cession, saw  the  tables  laid,  but  not  a  single  loaf  on  them. 
"Here  is  a  fine  set-out,"  cried  the  citizens,  "  but  where  is 
the  bread  to  come  from?"  The  women  present  vowed  to 
bring  a  loaf  every  Sunday,  and  there  was  soon  bread  enough 
and  to  spare  for  the  priory  and  its  guests.  We  see  the 
strength  of  the  new  movement  in  the  new  class  of  ecclesi- 
astics that  it  forces  on  the  stage ;  men  like  Anslem  or  John 
of  Salisbury,  or  the  two  great  prelates  who  followed  one 
another  after  Henry's  death  in  the  See  of  Canterbury, 
Theobald  and  Thomas,  derived  whatever  might  they  pos* 
sessed  from  sheer  holiness  of  life  or  unselfishness  of  aim. 
The  revival  left  its  stamp  on  the  fabric  of  the  constitution 
itself;  the  paralysis  of  the  Church  ceased  as  the  new  im- 
pulse bound  the  prelacy  and  people  together,  and  its  action, 
when  at  the  end  of  Henry's  reign  it  started  into  a  power 
strong  enough  to  save  England  from  anarchy,  has  been 
felt  in  our  history  ever  since. 

17  A  piece  of  ground  held  on  terms  of  military  service. 


BATTLE  Ol     I  Ml.  STANDARD.  ?r 

XV. 

BATTLE  OK  THE  STANDARD. 

THIERRY. 

[The  progress  of  the  country  was  broken  by  the  death  of 
Henry  the  First,  and  by  the  long  strife  for  the  crown 
which  followed  it  between  his  nephew  Stephen  and  his 
daughter  Matilda.  But  even  in  the  midst  of  the  anarchy 
which  this  strife  brought  about,  the  union  of  Norman  and 
Englishmen  into  a  single  and  united  people  was  seen  in 
the  gathering  of  all  the  men  of  Yorkshire  and  the  North 
to  withstand  an  invasion  of  the  Scots.  David,  King  of 
Scotland,  was  Matilda's  uncle;  and  under  pretext  of 
supporting  her  cause  he  strove  to  take  advantage  of  the 
weakness  of  England  and  to  seize  all  north  of  the  Humber 
for  his  own.  With  this  end  he  crossed  the  border ;  and 
cruelly  ravaging  as  he  went,  at  last  entered  Yorkshire. 
Here  however  he  was  met  and  routed  in  the  Bathe  of  the 
Standard.] 

In  order  to  rouse  their  subjects  to  march  with  them 
against  the  Scottish  King,1  the  Norman  barons  of  the 
North  skilfully  took  advantage  of  the  older  superstitions 
of  the  country's  side.  They  invoked  the  aid  of  those 
English  saints  whom  in  the  early  days  of  the  Conquest 
they  had  treated  with  contempt,  and  took  them,  so  t<j 
say,  for  the  leaders  of  their  army.  Archbishop  Thurstan1 
raised  the  banners  of  St.  Cuthbert  of  Durham,  of  St.  John 
of  Beverley,  and  of  St.  Wilfrid  of  Ripon.  The  Standards 
of  these  popular  saints  were  drawn  from  their  churches 
and  carried  to  North-Allerton,  some  thirty-two  miles  to  the 
north  of  York,  a  spot  where  the  Norman  chiefs,  William 
Pepercl  and  Walter  Espec,  had  decided  to  await  the  enemy's 

1   David.  2  The  Archbishop  of  York. 

4* 


72        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

attack.  The  Archbishop,  who  was  kept  by  sickness  from  the 
field,  sent  in  his  place  the  Bishop  of  Durham,  who  had  prob- 
ably been  driven  from  his  church  by  the  Scotch  invasion. 
An  instinct,  partly  of  religion,  partly  of  patriotism,  gathered 
the  English  inhabitants  of  the  neighbouring  towns  and 
country  round  these  English  banners,  raised  though  they 
were  on  the  field  of  Allerton  by  lords  of  a  foreign  race. 
The  Englishmen  no  longer  bore  the  battle-axe,  which  had 
been  the  favourite  arm  of  their  forefathers  :  they  were 
armed  with  huge  bows  and  long  arrows.  The  change  in 
their  equipment  3  had  been  wrought  by  the  Conquest  in  two 
different  ways ;  in  the  first  place,  those  of  the  English  who 
had  been  forced  to  serve  the  Norman  Kings  in  their  wars 
for  bread  and  pay  had  been  compelled  to  train  themselves 
in  the  Norman  mode  of  fighting,  while  those  who,  preferring 
a  struggle  for  independence,  had  become  bandits  on  the 
roads  or  outlaws  in  the  forest  had  equally  been  obliged  to 
exchange  weapons  which  were  only  fitted  for  hand-to-hand 
combat  for  arms  more  capable  of  reaching  from  afar  the 
Norman  knight  or  a  king's  deer.  As  the  children  both  of 
one  and  of  the  other  had  been  from  their  boyhood  trained 
in  the  use  of  the  bow,  England  had  in  less  than  a  cen- 
tury become  a  country  of  good  archers,  as  Scotland  was 
a  country  of  good  spearmen. 

While  the  Scotch  army  crossed  the  Tees,  the  Norman 
barons  were  actively  preparing  to  receive  its  attack.  On 
a  platform  supported  by  four  wheels  they  raised  a  ship's 
mast,  on  whose  top  was  placed  a  small  silver  pyx,  which 
contained  the  consecrated  host,  while  from  the  mast  hung 

3  The  bow  was  originally  a  purely  Norman  weapon,  and  to  it 
William  the  Conqueror  owed  his  victory  at  Hastings.  _  The  old 
English  weapons  were  the  sword  and  lance j  the  Danes  introduced 
their  broad  axe  into  the  English  equipment;  with  the  Norwetii 
'ame  the  bow. 


ISA  1  I  1  i.  OF    1  UK  STANDARD.  73 

those  banners  oi  the  saints  which  were  intended  to  roupe 
the  Englishmen  to  fight  hard.  This  Standard,  one  of  a  kind 
very  common  in  the  middle  ages,  occupied  the  centre  of 
the  line  of  battle.  The  Anglo-Norman  knighthood  took 
pest  about  it  alter  having  been  leagued  by  a  solemn  oath 
in  which  they  swore  to  hold  together  for  the  defence  of 
the  land,  whether  in  life  or  in  death.  The  Saxon  archers 
formed  the  wings  and  advanced  guard  of  the  army. 

'1  he  Scottish  host,  whose  Standard  was  nothing  but  a 
banner  borne  upon  a  spear,  marched  to  the  field  in  several 
distinct  bodies.  Their  King's  young  son,  Henry,  com- 
manded the  men  of  the  Lowlands  and  the  Englishmen  of 
Cumberland  and  of  Northumberland;4  the  Scotch  King 
himself  was  at  the  head  of  the  Highland  clans  and  of  the 
men  of  the  Western  Isles ;  while  knights  of  Norman  birth, 
armed  from  head  to  foot,  formed  his  body-guard.5  One  of 
these,  named  Robert  the  Bruce,  an  old  man,  who,  though 
he  held  his  fief  in  An  nan  dale  from  the  Scottish  King,  had 
no  personal  motive  of  enmity  against  his  fellow-barons  in 
land,  drew  near  to  David  at  the  moment  when  he  was 
ig  to  give  the  signal  for  attack,  and  said  to  him,  with  a 
look  of  sorrow,  "  Have  you  thought  well,  Sir  King,  against 
whom  you  are  going  to  fight  ?  It  is  against  Normans  and 
Englishmen,  die  men  who  have  always  served  you  so  well, 
whether  in  arms  or  at  the  council-board,  and  who  have 
succeeded  in  making  your  own  peoples  obey  you.     Do  you 

*  Cumberland  was  held  by  the  Scotch  Kino-  as  ajief,  or  grant, 
on  terms  of  military  tenure,  from  the  English  sovereign.  North- 
umberland he  had  overrun,  and  pressed  its  men  into  his  host. 

8  Under  David,  many  Norman  nobles  had  been  drawn  to  the 
Scottish  court,  and  had  received  grants  of  land  on  condition  of 
ing  the  Scottish  king  in  war.  Englishmen  also  had  received 
like  grants  on  like  terms;  and  it  was  on  the  aid  of  this 
knighthood  that  David  depended  for  support  against  the  native 
Highlanders  and  Galloway  men,  whom  it  was  hard  to  hold  i» 
obedience. 


74        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

hold  yourself  so  sure,  then,  of  the  submission  of  those  elans/ 
or  hope  you  to  hold  them  to  their  duty  with  no  other  sup- 
port than  your  Scotch  men-of-arms  ?  But  remember  that 
it  was  we  Normans  who  first  put  them  in  your  power,  and 
that  it  is  from  this  that  the  hate  springs  which  nerves  them 
to  attack  our  fellow  Normans." 

The  words  of  Bruce  seemed  to  make  a  great  impres- 
sion on  the  King,  but  his  nephew,  William,  cried  with 
impatience,  "  Those  are  a  traitor's  words  ! "  and  the  old 
baron  met  the  affront  by  renouncing,  in  the  usual  terms, 
his  oath  of  fealty  and  homage  to  David,  and  by  spurring 
at  once  into  the  camp  of  his  enemies.  Then  the  High- 
landers who  surrounded  the  Scottish  King  shouted  aloud 
the  old  name  of  their  country,  "  Alban  i  Alban  !  "  The 
shout  was  the  signal  for  the  combat.  The  men  of  Cum- 
berland, of  Liddesdale,  and  of  Teviotdale0  made  a  strong 
and  quick  onset  on  the  centre  of  the  Norman  line,  and, 
as  an  old  chronicler  tells  us,  broke  it  like  a  spider's  web  ; 
but  they  were  ill-supported  by  the  other  Scotch  troops, 
and  failed  to  make  their  way  to  the  Standard.  Round 
this  the  Anglo-Normans  re-formed  their  ranks,  and  drove 
back  their  assailants  with  heavy  loss.  The  first  charge 
was  followed  by  a  second  one,  in  which  the  long  lances 
of  the  men  from  the  south-west  of  Scotland 7  broke  fruit- 
lessly against  the  iron  mail  and  the  shields  of  the  Norman 
knighthood.  Then  the  Highlanders  drew  in  their  two- 
handed  swords,  rushed  forward  for  a  hand-to-hand  engage- 
ment ,  but  the  English  archers  wheeling  on  their  flanks 
riddled  them  with  a  flight  of  arrows,  while  the  Norman 
horsemen,  in  serried  line  and  with  lances  at  rest,  charged 
their  front.  Valiant  as  they  were,  the  clansmen  were  ill 
fitted  for  a  regular  engagement,  and  from  the  moment  thai 

6  Liddesdale  on  the  western  border  of  Scotland;  Teviotdale  on 
the  eastern.  7   The  men  of  Galloway. 


THOMAS  THE  CHANCELLOR.  73 

they  felt   themselves   unable  to   pierce   the  ranks    of  the 

enemy,  they  broke  in  disorder.  The  whole  of  the  Scotch 
army  was  now  forced  to  give  way,  and  fell  back  as  fai  as 
the  Tyne. 


XVI. 

THOMAS  THE  CHANCELLOR 

MISS    YONGE. 

[After  twenty  years  of  terrible  suffering,  the  death  of  Stephen 
brought  peace  to  the  realm.  Matilda  had  long  since 
withdrawn  from  the  strife,  and  waived  her  claim  in  favour 
of  her  son  Henry.  Henry  had  already  inherited  the 
French  counties  of  Anjou  and  Maine  from  his  father, 
Geoffry  Plantagenet ;  he  married  Eleanor,  the  Duchess  of 
Aquitaine,  and  thus  became  virtually  master  of  nearly  all 
Southern  France  ;  he  was  Duke  of  Normandy  in  right  of 
his  mother,  and  his  accession  to  the  throne  of  England 
on  Stephen's  death  made  him  one  of  the  greatest  sove- 
reigns in  the  world  of  his  day.  But  great  as  was  his 
power,  his  ability  was  yet  greater.  He  had  no  sooner 
become  king  than  he  put  an  end  to  the  disorder  which 
had  so  long  reigned  in  England ;  subduing  the  barons, 
driving  out  the  foreign  soldiery,  forcing  all  to  keep  good 
peace,  and  carrying  justice  through  all  the  realm.  In 
this  work  he  was  aided  by  the  genius  of  his  Chancellor, 
Thomas  Becket,  the  son  of  a  London  trader  of  Norman 
blood,  but  whose  ability  raised  him  to  the  highest  posts 
in  Church  and  State.] 

Thomas  received  a  clerkly  education  from  the  canons  of 
Merton,1  and  showed  such  rare  ability  that  his  family  deemed 
him  destined  for  great  things.  He  was  very  tall  and  hand- 
some,  with    aquiline    nose,   quick   eyes,  and    long  slender, 

1  A  religious  liouse  in  Surrey. 


76        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

beautiful  hands ;  and  he  was  very  vigorous  and  athletic, 
delighting  in  the  manly  sports  of  the  young  men  of  his  lime. 
In  his  boyhood,  while  he  was  out  hawking  with  a  knight  who 
used  to  lodge  in  his  father's  house  when  he  came  to  London, 
he  was  exposed  to  a  serious  danger.  They  came  to  a  nar- 
row bridge,  fit  only  for  foot-passengers,  with  a  mill-wheel 
just  below.  The  knight  nevertheless  rode  across  the  bridge, 
and  Thomas  was  following  when  his  horse,  making  a  false 
step,  fell  into  the  river.  The  boy  could  swim,  but  would 
not  make  for  the  bank  without  rescuing  the  hawk  that  had 
shared  his  fall,  and  thus  was  drawn  by  the  current  under 
the  wheel,  and  in  another  moment  would  have  been  torn  to 
pieces,  had  not  the  miller  stopped  the  machinery  and 
pulled  him  out  of  the  water  more  dead  than  alive. 

It  seems  that  it  was  the  practice  for  wealthy  merchants  to 
lodge  their  customers  when  brought  to  London  by  business, 
and  thus  young  Thomas  became  known  to  several  persons 
of  high  estimation  in  their  several  stations.  A  rich  mer- 
chant called  Osborn  gave  him  his  accounts  to  keep ;  knights 
noticed  his  riding,  and  dukes  his  learning  and  religious 
life.  Some  of  the  clergy  of  Theobald,  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  who  were  among  these  guests,  were  desirous  of 
presenting  Thomas  to  their  master.  He  at  first  held  back, 
but  they  at  length  prevailed  with  him  :  he  became  a  member 
of  the  Archbishop's  household,  and  after  he  had  improved 
himself  in  learning,  was  ordained  deacon,  and  presented 
with  the  Archdeaconry  of  Canterbury,  an  office  which  was 
then  by  no  means  similar  to  what  we  at  present  call  by  that 
name.  It  really  then  meant  being  chief  of  the  deacons, 
and  involved  the  being  counsellor  and,  in  a  manner,  trea- 
surer to  the  bishop  of  the  diocese  ;  and  thus  to  be  Arch- 
deacon of  Canteibury  was  the  highest  ecclesiastical  dignity 
in  the  kingdom  next  to  that  of  the  prelates  and  great 
mitred  abbots. 


THOMAS  THE  CHANCELLOR.  77 

Thomas  Becket  was  a  secular  clerk,  bound  by  none  of 
the  vows  of  monastic  orders,  and  therefore  though  he  led  a 
strictly  pure  and  self-denying  life,  he  did  not  consider  him- 
self obliged  to  abstain  from  worldly  business  or  amusements, 
and  in  the  year  1155  he  was  appointed  Chancellor  by 
Henry  II.  He  was  then  in  his  thirty-eighth  year,  of  great 
ability  and  cultivation,  graceful  in  demeanour,  ready  of 
speech,  clear  in  mind,  and  his  tall  frame  (reported  to  have 
been  no  less  than  six  feet  two  in  height)  fitting  him  for 
martial  exercise  and  bodily  exertion.  The  King,  a  youth  of 
little  past  twenty,  delighting  in  ability  wherever  he  found 
it,  became  much  attached  to  his  gallant  Chancellor,  and  not 
only  sought  his  advice  in  the  regulation  of  England  after  its 
long  troubles,  but  when  business  was  done  they  used  to 
play  together  like  two  schoolboys.  It  must  have  been  a 
curious  scene  in  the  hall  of  Chancellor  Thomas,  when  at  the 
daily  meal  earls  and  barons  sat  round  his  table,  and  knights 
and  nobles  crowded  so  thickly  at  the  others  that  the  benches 
were  not  sufficient,  and  the  floor  was  daily  strewn  with  hay 
or  straw  in  winter,  or  in  summer  widi  green  boughs  that 
those  who  sat  on  it  might  not  soil  their  robes.  Gold  and 
silver  dishes,  and  goblets,  and  the  richest  wines  were  pro- 
vided, and  the  choicest,  most  costly  viands  were  purchased 
at  any  price  by  his  servants  for  these  entertainments  :  they 
even  gave  a  hundred  shillings  for  a  dish  of  eels.  But  the 
Chancellor  seldom  touched  these  delicacies,  living  on  the 
plainest  fare  as  he  sat  in  his  place  as  the  host,  answering  the 
pledges  of  his  guests,  amusing  them  with  his  converse,  and 
providing  minstrelsy  and  sports  of  all  kinds  for  their  re- 
creation. Often  the  King  would  ride  into  the  hall  in  the 
midst  of  the  gay  crowd  seated  on  the  floor,  throw  himself 
off  his  horse,  leap  over  the  table,  and  join  in  the  mirth. 

These  rich  feasts  afforded  afterwards  plentiful    alms  foi 
the  poor,  who  were  never  forgotten  in  the  height  of  Beckct's 


yS       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

magnificence,  and  the  widow  and  the  oppressed  never  failed 
to  find  a  protector  in  the  Chancellor. 

His  house  was  full  of  young  squires  and  pages,  the  sons 
of  the  nobility,  who  placed  them  there  as  the  best  school  of 
knighthood;  and  among  them  was  the  King's  own  son 
Henry,  who  had  been  made  his  pupil.  The  King  seems 
to  have  been  very  apt  to  laugh  at  Becket  for  his  strict  life 
and  overflowing  charity.  One  very  cold  day,  as  they  were 
riding,  they  met  an  old  man  in  a  thin  ragged  coat.  "  Poor 
old  man  !"  cried  Henry,  "would  it  not  be  a  charity  to  give 
him  a  good  warm  cloak  ?  "  "It  would  indeed,"  said  Becket ; 
"you  had  better  keep  the  matter  in  mind."  "No,  no,  it  is 
you  that  shall  have  the  credit  of  this  great  act  of  charity," 
said  Henry,  laughing.  "  Ha,  old  man,  should  you  not  like 
this  fine  warm  cloak?"  and  with  these  words  he  began  to 
pull  at  the  scarlet  and  grey  mantle  which  the  Chancellor 
wore.  Becket  struggled  for  it,  and  in  this  rough  sport  they 
were  both  nearly  pulled  off  their  horses,  till  the  cloak  gave 
way,  and  the  King  triumphantly  tossed  his  prize  to  the 
astonished  old  man. 

The  Chancellor  was  in  the  habit  of  daily  giving  more  costly 
gifts  than  these  both  to  rich  and  poor;  gold  and  silver, 
robes  and  jewels,  fine  armour  and  horses,  hawks  and  hounds; 
even  fine  new  ships  were  bestowed  by  him,  from  the  wealth 
of  the  old  merchant  Gilbert,  as  well  as  from  the  revenues 
of  his  archdeaconry,  and  of  several  other  benefices,  which 
the  lax  opinions  of  his  time  caused  him  to  think  no  shame 
to  keep  in  his  own  hands. 

We  cannot  call  Thomas  Becket  by  any  means  a  perfect 
character ;  but  thoroughly  conscientious  he  must  ever  have 
been,  and  very  self-denying,  keeping  himself  free  from  every 
stain  in  the  midst  of  the  court,  and  guarding  himself  by- 
strict  discipline.  He  was  found  to  be  in  the  habit  of  sleep- 
ing on  the  bare  boards  beside  his  rich  bed,  and  in  secret  he 


THOMAS  THE  CHANCELLOR.  79 

wore  sackcloth,  and  submitted  to  the  lash  of  penance.  His 
uprightness  and  incorruptibility  as  a  judge,  His  wisdom  in 
administering  the  affairs  of  State,  and  his  skill  in  restoring 
■  to  England,  made  the  reign  of  Henry  Plantagenet 
a  relief  indeed  to  his  subjects  In  almost  every  respect  he 
lived  like  a  layman.  lie  hunted  and  hawked,  and  was 
found  fault  with  by  the  Prior  of  Leicester  for  wearing  a 
(ape  with  sleeves,  which  it  seems  was  an  unclerical  gar- 
ment. The  Prior  said  it  was  more  unsuitable  in  one  who 
held  so  many  ecclesiastical  preferments,  and  was  likely  to 
become  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  To  this  Thomas  an- 
swered :  "  I  know  of  four  priests,  each  of  whom  I  would 
rather  see  Archbishop  than  myself.  If  I  had  that  rank  I 
know  full  well  I  must  either  lose  the  King's  favour,  or  set 
aside  my  duty  to  God." 

When  Henry  went  to  war  with  France  respecting  the 
inheritance  of  Eleanor  of  Aquitaine,  his  wife,  the  Chancellor 
brought  to  his  aid  seven  hundred  knights  of  his  own  house- 
hold, besides  twelve  hundred  in  his  pay,  and  four  thousand 
foot  soldiers.  He  fed  the  knights  themselves  at  his  own 
table,  and  paid  them  each  three  shillings  a  day  for  the  sup- 
port of  their  squires  and  horses ;  and  he  himself  commanded 
them,  wearing  armour,  and  riding  at  their  head.  He  kept 
them  together  by  the  sound  of  a  long  slender  trumpet,  such 
as  was  then  used  only  by  his  own  band ;  and  in  combat  he 
showed  himself  strong  and  dexterous  in  the  use  of  lance 
and  sword,  winning  great  admiration  and  respect  even  from 
the  enemy. 

Henry  resolved  to  come  to  a  treaty,  and  to  seal  it  by 
asking  the  King  of  France,  Louis  le  Jeune,  to  give  his 
daughter  Margaret  in  marriage  to  Henry,'2  the  heir  of  England. 
Becket  was  sent  on  this  embassy,  and  the  splendour  of  his 
equipment  was  such  as  might  become  its  importance.  Two 
2  The  English  Kings  e'desi  son. 


80      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

hundred  men  on  horseback,  in  armour  or  giy  robes,  were 
his  immediate  followers,  and  with  them  came  eight  waggons, 
each  drawn  by  five  horses,  a  groom  walking  beside  each 
horse,  and  a  driver  and  guard  to  each  waggon,  besides  a 
large  fierce  dog  chained  beneath  each.  The  waggons  carried 
provisions  and  garments,  and  furniture  for  the  night :  two 
were  filled  with  ale  for  the  French,  who  much  admired  that 
English  liquor ;  another  was  fitted  up  as  a  kitchen,  and 
another  for  a  chapel.  There  were  twelve  sumpter-horses 
carrying  smaller  articles,  and  on  the  back  of  each  of  these 
sat  a  long-tailed  ape  !  Dogs  and  hawks  with  their  attendants 
accompanied  the  procession,  the  whole  marshalled  in  regular 
order,  the  men  singing  as  they  went ;  and  the  impression  on 
the  minds  of  all  beholders  was,  "  If  such  was  the  Chancellor, 
what  must  be  the  King  !  " 

At  Paris  all  these  riches  were  given  away  ;  and  so  resolved 
was  Becket  to  keep  up  his  character  for  munificence  that  he 
did  not  choose  to  be  maintained  at  the  expense  of  the 
French  King;  and  when  Louis,  wishing  to  force  him  into 
being  his  guest,  sent  orders  to  the  markets  round  to  sell 
nothing  to  the  English  Chancellor,  his  attendants  disguised 
themselves  and  bought  up  all  the  provisions  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. King  Louis  acquired  a  great  esteem  and  ad- 
miration for  the  Chancellor,  and  willingly  granted  his 
request,  betrothing  Margaret,  who  was  only  seven  years  old, 
to  Prince  Henry.  She.  as  well  as  her  little  husband, 
became  Becket's  pupil  by  desire  of  King  Henry,  and  she  at 
least  never  seems  to  have  lost  her  attachment  to  him. 

The  time  Becket  dreaded  came.  The  good  old  peaceable 
Archbishop  Theobald  died  in  1162,  and  Henry,  who  was 
then  at  Falaise,3  ordered  his  Chancellor  to  England  osten- 
sibly to  settle  a  disturbance  in  the  western  counties,  but  in 
reality,  as  he  djclared  in  a  private  interview,  that  he  might 

3  In  No'mandy. 


II  IK  MURDER  OF  BECKET.  - " 

be  elected  t<>  the  primacy.  Becket  smiled,. and  pointing  to 
his  gay  robes  said,  "You  arc  choosing  a  pretty  dress  to 
figure  at  the  head  ol  youi  monks  at  Canterbury.  If  you  do 
as  you  say,  my  lord,  you  will  soon  hate  me  as  much  as  you 
love  m  ■  now.  for  you  assume  an  authority  in  Church  affairs 
to  which  I  shall  not  consent,  and  there  will  be  plenty  of 
ons  to  stir  up  strife  between  us."  Henry  did  not  heed 
the  warning,  and  King,  Bishops,  and  the  Chapter  of 
Canterbury  unanimously  chose  Becket  as  Archbishop. 


XVII. 

THE  MURDER  OF  BECKET. 
STANLEY. 

[The  struggle  which  Becket  foresaw  was  quick  to  come. 
Henry's  passion  was  for  law  and  for  the  enforcement  of 
the  same  order  and  justice  through  every  class  of  society. 
By  the  custom  of  the  time  no  Churchman  was  subject  to 
the  King's  justice  ;  every  cleric  was  judged  by  his  bishop, 
and  subjected  only  to  spiritual  penalties  for  a  crime,  if 
convicted  of  it.  This  brought  great  disorders ;  and 
Henry  had  raised  Becket  to  the  Archbishoprick,  believing 
that  he  would  join  him  in  putting  an  end  to  it.  Becket 
however  saw  the  danger  of  putting  all  men  alike  under 
the  King's  absolute  control,  and  refused  his  assent  to  the 
plan.  A  long  and  bitter  strife  began  between  them,  which 
only  ended  after  some  years  in  a  seeming  reconciliation, 
that  allowed  Becket  to  return  from  banishment.  But 
he  was  no  sooner  in  England  than  the  King's  wrath  was 
kindled  anew  against  him  ;  and  four  knights  swore  to 
avenge  Henry  on  his  enemy,  crossed  the  sea,  made  their 
way  to  Canterbury,  and  threatened  Becket  with  death. 
He  was  drawn  into  the  church  by  the  frightened  monks, 
and  found   there  by  the  knights  who  murdered  him.] 


S2        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

The  vespers *  had  already  begun,  and  the  monks  wen- 
singing  the  service  in  the  choir,  when  two  boys  rushed 
up  the  nave  announcing  more  by  their  terrified  gestures 
than  by  their  words  that  the  soldiers  were  bursting  into 
the  palace  2  and  monastery.  Instantly  the  cathedral s  was 
thrown  into  the  utmost  confusion  ;  part4  remained  at  prayer, 
part  fled  into  the  numerous  hiding-places  the  vast  fabric 
affords  ;  and  part  went  down  the  steps  of  the  choir  into  the 
transept,  to  meet  the  little  band  at  the  door.  "Come  in, 
come  in  !  "  exclaimed  one  of  them,  "  come  in  ;  let  us  die 
together."  The  Archbishop  continued  to  stand  outside; 
and  said,  <l  Go  and  finish  the  service.  So  long  as  you  keep 
in  the  entrance  I  shall  not  come  in."  They  withdrew  a  few 
paces,  and  he  stepped  within  the  door;  but  finding  the 
whole  place  thronged  with  people,  he  paused  on  the  thres- 
hold and  asked,  "What  is  it  that  all  these  people  fear?" 
One  general  answer  broke  forth,  "The  armed  men  in  the 
cloister."  As  he  turned  and  said,  "  I  shall  go  out  to  them," 
he  heard  the  clash  of  arms  behind.  The  knights5  had  just 
forced  their  way  through  the  door  from  the  palace  to  the 
monastery,  and  were  advancing  along  the  northern  side  ot 
the  cloister.  They  were  in  mail,6  with  their  vizors  down, 
and  carried  their  swords  drawn.  Three  had  hatchets. 
Fitzurse,  with  the  axe  he  had  taken  from  the  carpenters  7  was 
foremost,  shouting  as  he  came,  "  Here,  here,  king's  men  !  " 
Immediately  behind  followed  four  other  knights  and  a 
motley  group — some  their  own  followers,  some  from  the 
town — with  weapons,  though  not  in  armour,  brought  up  the 
rear.     At  this  sight,  so  unwonted  in  the  peaceful  cloisters 

1  Evening  senHce.  2  Of  the  Archbishop.  3  Of  Can- 

terbjiry.  4  Of  the  monks  worshipping.  5  Reginald 

Fitzurse,    William    Tracy,   Hugh  of  Morville,   and    William 
Brilo.  c  Armed  in  ir oji  coats  of  mail.    Visors,  the  moveable 

fart  of  the  helmet,  covering  the  face.  7   The  knights  found 

wine  carpenters  at  work  in  the  monastery,  and  took  their  axe. 


THE  MURDER  OF  BECKET.  33 

oi  Canterbury,  not  probably  beheld  since  the  time  when 
the  monastery  was  sacked  by  the  Danes,  the  monks  within, 
regardless  of  all  remonstrance,  shut  the  great  dour  of  the 
cathedral,8  and  proceeded  to  barricade  it  with  iron  bars.  A 
loud  knocking  was  heard  from  the  terrified  band  without, 
who,  having  vainly  endeavoured  to  prevent  the  entrance  of 
the  knights  into  the  cloister,  now  rushed  before  them  to 
take  refuge  in  the  church.  Becket,  who  had  stepped  some 
paces  into  the  cathedral,  but  was  resisting  the  solicitations 
of  those  immediately  about  him  to  remove  up  into  the  choir 
for  safety,  darted  back,  calling  as  he  went,  "  Away,  you 
cowards  !  by  virtue  of  your  obedience  I  command  you  not 
to  shut  the  door — the  church  must  not  be  turned  into  a 
castle."  With  his  own  hands  he  thrust  them  from  the  door, 
opened  it  himself,  and  catching  hold  of  the  excluded  monks, 
dragged  them  into  the  building,  exclaiming,  "Come  in, 
come  in — faster,  faster  !  " 

At  this  moment  the  ecclesiastics,  who  had  hitherto  clung 
round  him,  fled  in  every  direction ;  some  to  the  altars  in  the 
numerous  side  chapels,  some  to  the  secret  chambers  with 
which  the  walls  and  roof  of  the  cathedral  are  tilled.  Even 
John  of  Salisbury,  his  tried  and  faithful  counsellor,  escaped 
with  the  rest.  Three  only  remained — Robert,  canon  of 
Merton,  his  old  instructor ;  William  Fitzstephen  (if  we  may 
believe  his  own  account),  his  lively  and  worldly-minded 
chaplain  ;  and  Edward  dim  the  monk,  who  had  joined  his 
household  only  a  few  days,  but  who  had  been  with  him  once 
before,  on  the  memorable  day  when  he  signed  the  Constitu- 
tions of  Clarendon,9  and  had  ventured  to  rebuke  him  for 
the  act.  Two  hiding-places  had  been  specially  pointed  out 
to  the  Archbishop,  one  was  the  venerable  crypt  of  the  church, 
with  its  many  dark  recesses  and  chapels,   to  which  a  door, 

"  Opening  from  the  cloister.  J  In  which  Henry 's  plan 

was  embodied. 


S4       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

then  as  now,  opened  immediately  from  the  spot  where  he 
stood  ;  the  other  was  the  chapel  of  St.  Blaize  in  the  roof, 
itself  communicating  with  the  triforium  10  of  the  cathedral, 
arid  to  which  there  was  a  ready  access  through  a  staircase 
cut  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall  at  the  corner  of  the 
transept.  But  he  positively  refused.  A  last  resource  re- 
mained to  the  staunch  trio  who  formed  his  body-guard. 
They  urged  him  to  ascend  to  the  choir  ;  and  hurried  him, 
still  resisting,  up  one  of  the  flights  of  steps  which  led  from 
the  transept.  They  no  doubt  considered  that  the  greater 
sacredness  of  that  portion  of  the  church  would  form  their  best 
protection.  Becket  gave  way,  as  when  he  left  the  palace, 
from  the  thought  flashing  across  his  mind  that  he  would  die 
at  his  post.  He  would  go  (such  at  least  was  the  impression 
on  their  minds)  to  the  high  altar,  and  perish  in  the  patriarchal 
chair,11  in  which  he  and  all  his  predecessors  from  time  im- 
memorial had  been  enthroned.     But  this  was  not  to  be. 

What  has  taken  long  to  describe  must  have  been  com- 
pressed in  action  within  a  few  minutes.  The  knights  who 
had  been  checked  for  a  moment  by  the  sight  of  the  closed 
door,  on  seeing  it  unexpectedly  thrown  open,  rushed  into 
the  church.  It  was,  we  must  remember,  about  five  o'clock 
on  a  winter  evening12  ;  the  shades  of  night  were  gathering 
round,  and  were  deepened  into  a  still  darker  gloom  within 
the  high  massive  walls  of  the  cathedral,  which  was  only 
illuminated  here  and  there  by  the  solitary  lamps  that 
burned  before  the  altars.  The  twilight  lengthening  from  the 
shortest  day,  which  was  a  fortnight  before,  was  just  sufficient 
to  reveal  the  outline  of  objects,  though  not  enough  to  show 
any  one  distinctly.  The  transept  in  which  the  knights  found 
themselves  was  in  the  same  relative  position  as  the  existing 

10  The  upper  floor  above  the  side-aisles.  u   Then  placed 

behind  the  high  altar,  and  overlooking  the  whole  church. 
M  The  29th  of  December. 


TIIK  MURDER  OF  BECKET.  85 

portion  of  the  cathedral,  still  known  by  the  name  of  the 
"  Martyrdom,"  which  it  obtained  within  five  years  after  the 
Primate's  death.  Its  arrangements,  however,  much  more 
closely  resembled  those  which  we  now  see  in  the  correspond- 
ing transept  on  the  southern  side.  Two  staircases  led  from 
it,  one  on  the  east  to  the  northern  aisle,  one  on  the  west  to 
the  entrance  of  the  choir.  At  its  south-west  corner,  where 
it  joined  the  nave,  there  was  the  little  chapel  and  altar  of 
the  Virgin.  Its  eastern  apse  was  formed  by  two  chapels, 
raised  one  above  the  other;  the  upper  in  the  roof  contain- 
ing the  relics  of  St.  Blaize,  the  first  martyr  whose  bones  had 
been  brought  into  the  church,  and  which  gave  to  the  chapel 
a  peculiar  sanctity;  the  lower  containing  the  altar  of  St. 
benedict,  under  whose  rule  from  the  time  of  Dunstan  the 
monastery  had  been  placed.  Before  and  around  this  altar 
were  the  tombs  of  four  Saxon  and  two  Norman  archbishops. 
In  the  centre  of  the  transept  was  a  pillar  supporting  a  gallery 
bailing  to  the  chapel  of  St.  lilaize,  and  hung  at  great  festivals 
with  curtains  and  draperies. 

Such  was  the  outward  aspect  and  such  the  associations 
of  the  scene  which  now  perhaps  opened  for  the  first  time 
on  the  four  soldiers,  though  the  darkness,  coupled  with  their 
mess  to  find  their  victim,  would  have  prevented  them 
from  noticing  anything  more  than  its  prominent  features. 
At  the  moment  of  their  entrance  the  central  pillar  exactly 
intercepted  their  view  of  the  Archbishop  ascending  (as 
it  would  appear  from  this  circumstance)  the  eastern  stair- 
case. Fitzurse,  with  his  drawn  sword  in  one  hand  and  the 
carpenter's  axe  in  the  other,  sprang  in  first,  and  turned  at 
once  to  the  right  of  the  pillar.  The  other  three  went  round 
it  to  the  left.  They  could  just  discern  a  group  of  figures 
mounting  the  steps,  and  one  of  the  knights  called  out  to 
them,  "Stay!"  Another  demanded,  "Where 'is  Thomas 
Becket,   traitor  to   the   King?"    to    which  no   answer  was 


86       TROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

returned.  Fitzurse  rushed  forward,  and  stumbling  against 
one  of  the  monks  on  the  lower  step,  and  still  unable  to  dis- 
tinguish clearly  in  the  darkness,  exclaimed,  "  Where  is  the 
Archbishop  ?  "  Instantly  the  answer  came — "  Reginald, 
here  I  am  ;  no  traitor,  but  the  Archbishop  and  Priest  of 
God  ;  what  do  you  wish  ?  " — and  from  the  fourth  step  which 
he  had  reached  in  his  ascent,  with  a  slight  motion  of  his 
head,  apparently  a  gesture  of  some  significance  to  the  monks 
who  remembered  it,  he  descended  to  the  transept.  Fitz- 
urse sprang  back  two  or  three  paces,  and  Becket,  passing  by 
him,  took  up  his  station  between  the  central  pillar  and  the 
massive  wall  which  still  forms  the  south-west  corner  of  what 
was  then  the  chapel  of  St.  Benedict.  Here  they  gathered 
round  him,  with  the  cry,13  "  Absolve  the  bishops  whom  you 
have  excommunicated."  "  I  cannot  do  other  than  I  have 
done,"  he  replied,  and  turning  to  Fitzurse,  he  added — 
"  Reginald,  you  have  received  many  favours  at  my  hands, 
why  do  you  come  into  my  church  armed  ?"  Fitzurse  planted 
the  axe  against  his  breast,  and  returned  for  answer,  "You 
shall  die, —  I  will  tear  out  your  heart."  Another,  perhaps 
in  kindness,  struck  him  between  the  shoulders  with  the  flat 
of  his  sword,  exclaiming,  "Fly;  you  are  a  dead  man." 
"  I  am  ready  to  die,"  replied  the  prelate,  "  for  God  and  the 
Church  ;  but  I  warn  you  in  the  name  of  God  Almighty  to 
let  my  men  escape." 

The  well-known  horror  which  in  that  age  was  felt  at  an 
act  of  sacrilege,  together  with  the  sight  of  the  crowds  who 
were  rushing  in  from  the  town  through  the  nave,  turned 
their  efforts  for  the  next  few  moments  to  carrying  him  out 


13  On  landing  in  England  Becket  had  excommu  nicated  the 
prelates  who  had  joined  in  crowning  the  young  Henry,  Henry 
the  Second's  son  j  as  to  crown  kings  was  a  privilege  of  his 
see  of  Canterbury.  This  was  one  of  the  causes  of  Henry's  out- 
burst of  wrath. 


THE  MURDER  OK  RECKET.  87 

of  the  church.  Fitzursc  threw  down  the  axe,  and  tried  to 
drag  him  out  by  the  collar  of  his  cloak,  calling,  "Come  with 
U9 — you  are  our  prisoner."  "  I  will  not  fly,  you  detestable 
fellow,"  was  the  reply  of  the  Archbishop,  roused  to  his  usual 
vehemence.  The  four  knights,  to  whom  was  now  added  a 
sub-deacon,  Hugh  of  Horsea,  surnamed  Mauclerc,  chaplain 
of  Robert  de  Broc,  struggled  violently  to  put  him  on 
Tracy's  shoulders,  but  Becket  set  his  back  against  the 
pillar,  and  resisted  with  all  his  might,  whilst  Grim  threw  his 
arms  around  him  to  aid  his  efforts.  In  the  scuffle  Becket 
fastened  upon  Tracy,  shook  him  by  his  coat  of  mail,  and, 
exerting  his  great  strength,  flung  him  down  on  the  pavement. 
Fitzurse  rejoined  the  fray,  with  a  drawn  sword,  and,  as  he 
drew  near,  Becket  gave  full  vent  to  his  anger ;  the  spirit  of 
the  Chancellor  rose  within  him,  and  with  a  coarse  epithet, 
not  calculated  to  turn  away  his  adversary's  wrath,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  You  profligate  wretch,  you  are  my  man — you 
have  done  me  fealty14 — you  ought  not  to  touch  me."  Fitz- 
urse, roused  to  frenzy,  retorted — "I  owe  you  no  fealty  or 
homage,  contrary  to  my  fealty  to  the  King,"  and  waving  his 
sword  over  his  head,  cried,  "  Strike,  strike ! "  but  merely 
dashed  off  the  prelate's  cap.  The  Archbishop  covered  his 
eyes  with  his  joined  hands,  bent  his  neck,  and  said,  "  I 
commend  myself  to  God,  to  St.  Denys  of  France,  to  St. 
Alfege,  and  to  the  saints  of  the  Church."  Meanwhile 
Tracy,  who  since  his  fall  had  thrown  off  his  hauberk 15  to 
move  more  easily,  sprang  forward  and  struck  a  more  decided 
blow.  Grim,  who  up  to  this  moment  had  his  arm  round 
Becket,  threw  it  up  to  intercept  the  blade,  Becket  exclaim- 
ing, "  Spare  this  defence."  The  sword  lighted  on  the  arm 
of  the  monk,  which  fell  wounded  or  broken ;  and  he  fled 

'   /  f  'hen  a  knight  did  homage,  or  became  "  man  "  to  a  lord,  who 
endowed  hint  with  lands,  he  swore  to  be  faithful  to  him  against 
tlu  king      His  oath  was  "  doing  fealty."     v>  Body  coat  of  mail. 
5 


88        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

disabled  to  the  nearest  altar,  probably  that  of  St.  Benedict, 
within  the  chapel.  It  is  a  proof  of  the  confusion  of  the 
scene  that  Grim,  the  receiver  of  the  blow,  as  well  as  most 
of  the  narrators,  believed  it  to  have  been  dealt  by  Fitzurse, 
while  Tracy,  who  is  known  to  have  been  the  man  from  his 
subsequent  boast,  believed  that  the  monk  whom  he  had 
wounded  was  John  of  Salisbury. 

The  spent  force  of  the  stroke  descended  on  Becket's  head, 
grazed  the  crown,  and  finally  rested  on  his  left  shoulder, 
cutting  through  the  clothes  and  skin.  The  next  blow, 
whether  struck  by  Tracy  or  Fitzurse,  was  only  with  the  flat 
of  the  sword,  and  again  on  the  bleeding  head,  which  Becket 
drew  back  as  if  stunned,  and  then  raised  his  clasped  hands 
above  it.  The  blood  from  the  first  blow  was  trickling  down 
his  face  in  a  thin  streak  ;  he  wiped  it  with  his  arm,  and 
when  he  saw  the  stain  he  said — "Into  thy  hands,  O  Lord, 
I  commend  my  spirit."  At  the  third  blow,  which  was  also 
from  Tracy,  he  sank  on  his  knees — his  arms  falling — but 
his  hands  still  joined  as  if  in  prayer.  With  his  face  turned 
towards  the  altar  of  St  Benedict  he  murmured  in  a  low 
voice,  which  might  just  have  been  caught  by  the  wounded 
Grim,  who  was  crouching  close  by,  and  who  alone  reports 
the  words — "  For  the  name  of  Jesus,  and  the  defence  of  the 
Church,  I  am  willing  to  die."  Without  moving  hand  or 
foot,  he  fell  flat  on  his  face  as  he  spoke,  in  front  of  the 
corner  wall  of  the  chapel,  and  with  such  dignity  that  his 
mantle,  which  extended  from  head  to  foot,  was  not  dis- 
arranged. In  this  posture  he  received  from  Richard  the 
Breton  a  tremendous  blow,  accompanied  with  the  exclam- 
ation (in  allusion  to  a  quarrel  of  Becket  with  Earl  William) 16 
"  Take  this  for  love  of  my  Lord  William,  brother  of  the 
King."     The  stroke  was  aimed  with  such  violence  that  the 

16  A    bastard  son  of  Henry  the   Second,  Earl  William  of 
Salisbury,  known  as  William  L  ongsword. 


DEATH  OK  HENRY  THE  SECOND.  89 

scalp  or  crown  of  the  head — which,  it  was  remarked,  was 
of  unusual  size — was  severed  from  the  skull,  and  the  sword 
snapped  in  two  on  the  marble  pavement.  Hugh  of  Horsca, 
the  sub-deacon  who  had  joined  them  as  they  entered  the 
church,  taunted  by  the  others  with  having  taken  no  share 
in  the  deed,  planted  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  the  corpse, 
thrust  his  sword  into  the  ghastly  wound  and  scattered  the 
brains  over  the  pavement.  "  Let  us  go,  let  us  go,"  he  said 
in  conclusion ;  "  the  traitor  is  dead ;  he  will  rise  no  more." 


XVIII. 

DEATH  OF  HENRY  THE  SECOND. 
STUBBS. 

[Brutal  as  was  Beoket's  murder,  Henry  was  a  great  and  noble 
king.  His  passion  was  for  justice ;  and  it  was  he  who 
gave  our  courts  of  justice  the  form  and  shape  they  have 
preserved  to  our  own  day.  To  England  he  was  a  bene- 
ficent ruler;  and  his  faults,  great  as  they  were,  were  so 
terribly  punished  as  to  force  us  to  pity.  His  later  years  were 
broken  with  the  rebellions  of  his  own  sons  ;  at  last  his  son 
Richard  leagued  himself  with  the  French  King,  Philip, 
and  suddenly  attacking  his  father  in  Anjou,  when  bereft  ot 
troops,  drove  him  from  Tours,  and  forced  him  to  submit 
to  a  humiliation  which  brought  him  to  the  grave.] 

Henry  nerved  himself  for  an  interview  which  he  knew 
could  have  but  one  issue.  Ill  as  he  was,  he  moved  from 
Saumur  to  Azai,  and  in  the  plain  of  Colombieres  met  Philip 
and  Richard  on  the  day  after  the  capture  of  Tours. 

Henry,  notwithstanding  his  fistula  and  his  fever,  was  able 
to  sit  on  horseback.     His  son  Geoffrey *  had  begged  leave 

1  Geoffrey  was  a  bastard  son  of  Henry,  but  faithful  to  him 
throughout. 


go       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

cf  absence,  that  lie  might  not  see  the  humiliation  of  his 
father;  but  many  of  his  other  nobles,  and  probably  two  of 
his  three  archbishops,  rode  beside  him.  The  terms  which 
he  had  come  to  ratify  had  been  settled  beforehand.  He 
had  but  to  signify  his  acceptance  of  them  by  word  of 
mouth.  They  met  face  to  face,  the  unhappy  father  and  the 
undutiful  son.2  It  was  a  clear,  sultry  day,  a  cloudless  sky 
and  still  air.  As  the  kings  3  advanced  towards  one  another 
a  clap  of  thunder  was  heard,  and  each  drew  back.  Again 
they  advanced,  and  again  it  thundered  louder  than  before. 
Henry,  wearied  and  excited,  was  ready  to  faint.  His 
attendants  held  him  up  on  his  horse,  and  so  he  made  his 
submission.  He  had  but  one  request  to  make  ;  it  was  for 
a  list  of  the  conspirators  who  had  joined  with  Richard  to 
forsake  and  betray  him.  The  list  was  promised,  and  he 
returned  to  Azai.  Before  he  parted  with  Richard  he  had 
to  give  him  the  kiss  of  peace  ;  he  did  so,  but  the  rebellious 
son  heard  his  father  whisper,  and  was  not  ashamed  to 
repeat  it  as  a  jest  to  Philip's  ribald  courtiers,  "  May  God 
not  let  me  die  until  I  have  taken  me  due  vengeance  on 
thee." 

But  not  even  his  submission  and  humiliation  procured 
Henry  rest.  Among  the  minor  vexations  of  the  last  months 
had  been  the  pertinacious  refusal  of  the  monks  of  Canter- 
bury to  obey  their  archbishop  in  certain  matters  in  which 
they  believed  their  privileges  to  be  infringed.  Henry  had, 
as  usual  with  him  in  questions  of  ecclesiastical  law,  taken  a 
personal  interest  in  the  matter,  and  had  not  scrupled  to 
back  the  archbishop  with  arms  at  Canterbury  and  support 
of  a  still  more  effective  kind  at  Rome.  A  deputation  from 
the  convent,  sent  out  in  the  vain  idea  that  Henry's  present 
misfortunes  would  soften  his  heart  towards  them,  had  been 
looking  for  him  for  some  days.  They  found  him  at  Azai, 
2  Richard.  3  Phi! if)  of  France  and  Henry. 


DEATH  OF  HENRY  THE  SECOND. 

most  probably  on  his  return  bom  the  field  of  Colorabieres. 
"The  convent  of  Canterbury  salute  you  as  their  lord,"  was 
the  greeting  of  the  monks.     "  Their  lord  I  have  been,  and 
am  still,  and  will  be  yet,"  was  the  King's  answer ;  "small 
thanks  to  you,   ye   traitors,"  he  added  below  his   breath. 
One  of  his  clerks  prevented  him  from  adding  more  invec- 
tive.    He  bethought  himself  probably  that  even  now  the 
justiciar  was  asking  the  convent  for   money  towards  the 
expenses  of  the  war ;  he  would  temporize  as  he  had  always 
seemed  to  do  with  them.     "  Go  away,  and  I  will  speak  with 
my  faithful,"  he  said  when  he  had  heard  their  plea.     He 
called  William  of  S.  Mere  l'Eglise,  one  of  the  chiefs  of  the 
chancery,   and   ordered   him   to  write   in    his   name.     The 
letter  is  extant,  and  is  dated  at  Azai.      It  is  probably  the 
last  document  he  ever  issued.     It  begins,  "  Henry,  by  the 
grace  of  God  King  of    England,    Duke  of  Normandy  and 
Aquitaine,  and  Count  of  Anjou,  to  the  convent  of  Ghrist 
Church,  Canterbury,  greeting,  and  by  God's  mercy  on  his 
return  to  England,  peace."     The  substance  of  the  letter  is, 
that  the  monks  should  take  advantage  of  the  delay  in  his 
return  to  reconsider  their  position,  and  the  things  that  make 
for  peace,  that  they  might  find  an  easier  way  out  of  their 
difficulties  when  he  should  come. 

The  monks,  delighted  with  their  success,  retired,  and 
the  King  lay  down  to  rest.  It  was  then,  probably,  that 
the  fatal  schedule  was  brought  him,  which  he  had  so 
unwisely  demanded  at  Colombieres.  It  was  drawn  up  in 
the  form  of  a  release  from  allegiance ;  all  who  had  adhered 
to  Richard  were  allowed  to  attach  themselves  henceforth 
to  him,  in  renunciation  of  the  father's  right  over  them.  He 
ordered  the  names  to  be  read.  The  first  on  the  list  was 
that   of  John.4     The  sound   of  the  beloved  name  startled 

4  John  was  Henry's  youngest  son;  and  it  was  his  excessive 
l(n>c  of  him  which  h  id  roused  the  jealou  y  of  his  other  so/is,  and 


92        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

him  at  once.  He  leaped  up  from  his  bed  as  one  beside 
himself,  and  looking  round  him  with  a  quick  troubled 
glance  exclaimed,  "  Is  it  true  that  John,  my  very  heart, 
the  best  beloved  of  all  my  sons,  for  whose  advancement 
I  have  brought  upon  me  all  this  misery,  has  forsaken 
me?"  The  reader  had  no  other  answer  to  make  than 
to  repeat  die  name.  Henry  saw  that  it  was  on  the  list, 
and  threw  himself  back  on  the  couch.  He  turned  his  face 
to  the  wall,  and  groaned  deeply.  "  Now,"  he  said,  "  let  all 
things  go  what  way  they  may ;  I  care  no  more  for  myself 
nor  for  the  world."  His  heart  was  broken,  and  his  death- 
blow struck. 

He  could  not,  however,  remain  at  Azai.  His  people 
carried  him  in  a  litter  to  Chinon,5  where  Geoffrey  was 
waiting  for  him.  It  was  the  fifth  day  of  the  fever,  and  in 
all  probability  he  was  delirious  with  the  excitement  of  the 
morning.  It  was  remembered  and  reported  in  England  that 
after  he  was  brought  to  Chinon  he  cursed  the  day  on  which 
he  was  born,  and  implored  God's  malison  6  on  his  sons  :  the 
bishops  and  priests  about  him  implored  him  to  revoke  the 
curse,  but  he  refused.  But  Giraldus,7  bitter  enemy  as  he 
was,  somewhat  softened  by  his  misfortune,  tells  a  different 
tale.  He  draws  the  picture  of  the  dying  King  leaning  on 
Geoffrey's  shoulder  whilst  one  of  his  knights  held  his  feet 
in  his  lap.  Geoffrey  was  fanning  the  flies  from  the  King's 
face,  as  he  seemed  to  be  sleeping.  As  they  watched,  the 
King  revived  and  opened  his  eyes.  He  looked  at  Geoffrey 
and  blessed  him.  "  My  son,"  he  said,  "  my  dearest,  for 
that  thou  hast  ever  striven  to  show  towards  me  such  faith- 
fulness and  gratitude  as  son  could  show  to  father,  if  by 
God's  mercy   I  shall  recover  of  this  sickness,   I   will  of  a 

brought  about  Richard's   revolt.      In  spite  of  this  John  had 
secretly  joined  in  the  conspiracy.  5  A  town  and  castle  on 

the  Vicnnc,  south  of  the  Loire.  6  Curse.  7  A  historian 

of  the  time,  who  hated  Henry  and  his  sons. 


DEATH  OF  HENRY  THE  SECOND.  93 

purely  do  to  thee  the  duty  of  the  best  of  fathers,  and  I  will 
set    thee    among    the    greatest    and    mightiest    men    of  my 
dominion.     But  if  I  am  to  die  without  requiting  thee,  may 
God,  who  is  the  author  and  rewarder  of  all  good,  reward 
thee,  because  in  every  fortune  alike  thou  hast  shown  thyself 
to  me  so  true  a  son."     Geoffrey,  of  whose  sincere  sorrow 
there   can  be  no  doubt,  was  overwhelmed  with   tears ;  he 
could  but  reply  that  all  he  prayed  for  was  his  father's  health 
and  prosperity.    Another  day  passed,  and  the  King's  strength 
visibly  waned.     He  kept  crying  at  intervals,  "  Shame,  shame 
on  a  conquered  king."     At  last,  when  Geoffrey  was  again 
by  his  side,  the  poor  King  kept  telling   him    how  he  had 
destined  him  for  the  see  of  York,  or,  if  not  York,   Win- 
chester ;  but  now  he  knew  that  he  was  dying.8     He  drew 
off  his  best  gold  ring  with  the  device  of  the  panther,  and 
bade  him  send  it  to  his  son-in-law,  the   King  of  Castile  ; 
and   another  very  precious  ring,  with  a   sapphire  of  great 
price   and   virtue,  he  ordered    to  be  delivered  out  of   his 
treasure.     Then  he  desired  that  his  bed  should  be  carried 
into    the    chapel,  and    placed    before   the    altar.     He   had 
strength  still  to  say  some  words  of  confession,  and  received 
"  the  Communion  of   the  Body  and  Blood   of  the  Lord 
with  devotion."     And  so  he  died,  on  the  seventh  day  of  the 
fever,  on  the  sixth  of  July,  the  octave  of  the  Apostles  Pete. 
and  Paul. 

8  Geoffrey  afterwards  became  Archbishop  of  York. 


94        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 


XIX. 

KING  RICHARD  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 

MISS    YONGE. 

[Richard,  who  succeeded  his  father  as  King  of  England, 
only  visited  his  realm  to  gather  money  for  a  Crusade,  or 
war  for  the  rescue  of  Jerusalem  from  the  Mahommedans, 
which  he  had  vowed  to  undertake  with  King  Philip  of 
France.  Philip  and  he,  however,  quarrelled  at  their  first 
exploit,  the  siege  of  Acre  ;  and  on  the  capture  of  the  city 
the  French  King  returned  home.  Richard  then  led  his 
troops  to  the  siege  of  Jerusalem.] 

At  the  end  of  August,  1191,  Richard  led  his  crusading 
troops  from  Acre  into  the  midst  of  the  wilderness  of  Mount 
Carmel,  where  their  sufferings  were  terrible ;  the  rocky, 
sandy,  and  uneven  ground  was  covered  with  bushes  full  of 
long  sharp  prickles,  and  swarms  of  noxious  insects  buzzed 
in  the  air,  fevering  the  Europeans  with  their  stings ;  and  in 
addition  to  these  natural  obstacles,  multitudes  of  Arab  horse- 
men harassed  them  on  every  side,  slaughtering  every  straggler 
who  dropped  behind  from  fatigue,  and  attacking  them  so 
unceasingly  that  it  was  remarked  that  throughout  their  day's 
track  there  was  not  one  space  of  four  feet  without  an  arrow 
sticking  in  the  ground.  Richard  fought  indefatigably,  always 
in  the  van  and  ready  to  reward  the  gallant  exploits  of  his 
knights.  A  young  knight  who  bore  a  white  shield  in  hopes 
of  gaining  some  honourable  bearing  so  distinguished  him- 
self that  Richard  thus  greeted  him  at  the  close  of  the  day : 
"  Maiden  knight,  you  have  borne  yourself  as  a  lion,  and 


KIND  RICHARD  IN  THE  HOLY   LAND.  95 

done  the  deed  of  six  croisls;"*  and  granted  him  .1  lion 
between  six  crosses  on  a  red  field  with  the  motto,  "  Tinctm 
crurore  Saraceno"  tinted  with  Saracen  blood,  whence  Ins 
family  are  said  to  have  assumed  the  name  of  Tynte. 

At  Arsaaf,  on  the  7th  of  September,  a  great  battle  was 
fought.  Saladin  2  and  his  brother  had  almost  defeated  the 
two  Religious  Orders,3  and  the  gallant  French  knight, 
Jacques  d'Avesne,  after  losing  his  leg  by  a  stroke  from  a 
scimitar,  fought  bravely  on,  calling  on  the  English  King 
until  he  fell  overpowered  by  numbers.  Cceur  de  Lion4  and 
Guillaume  des  Barres  retrieved  the  day,  hewed  down  the 
enemy  on  all  sides,  and  remained  masters  of  the  field.  It 
is  even  said  that  Richard  and  Saladin  met  hand  to  hand, 
but  this  is  uncertain.  This  victory  opened  the  way  to  Joppa, 
where  the  Crusaders  spent  the  next  month  in  the  repair  of 
the  fortifications,  while  the  Saracen  forces  lay  at  Ascalon. 
While  here  Richard  often  amused  himself  with  hawking. 
ami  one  day  was  asleep  under  a  tree  when  he  was  aroused 
by  the  approach  of  a  party  of  Saracens,  and  springing  on  his 
horse  Frannelle,  which  had  been  taken  at  Cyprus,  he  rashly 
pursued  them  and  fell  into  ah  ambush.  Four  knights  were 
slain,  and  he  would  have  been  seized  had  not  a  Gascon 
knight,  named  Guillaume  des  Parcelets,  called  out  that  he 
himself  was  the  Malek  Rik,5  and  allowed  himself  to  be  taken. 
Richard  offered  ten  noble  Saracens  in  exchange  for  this 
generous  knight,  whom  Saladin  restored,  together  with  a 
valuable  horse  that  had  been  captured  at  the  same  time.  A 
present  of  another  Arab  steed  accompanied  them ;  but 
Richard's  half-brother,  William  Longsword,  insisted  on  trying 

1  Crusaders  :  so  called  from  their  bearing  the  mark  of  a  cross 

on  their  shoulders.         2   The  Sultan  of  Egypt,  who  was  in  pos- 

1    f  the  Holy  Land.        3  The  Templars  and  Hospitallers  j 

rs  formed  for  defence  of  the  Holy  Land.  *  Richard, 

illed  from  his  lion-like  courage.  5  Great  King}  o>- 

A'a  hard. 


96        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

the  animal  before  the  King  should  mount  it.  No  soone. 
was  he  on  its  back  than  it  dashed  at  once  across  the  country, 
and  before  he  could  stop  it  he  found  himself  in  the  midst 
cf  the  enemy's  camp.  The  two  Saracen  princes  were  ex- 
tremely shocked  and  distressed  lest  this  should  be  supposed 
a  trick,  and  instantly  escorted  Longsword  back  with  a  gift 
of  three  chargers  which  proved  to  be  more  manageable. 

From  Joppa  the  Crusaders  marched  to  Ramla,  and  thence 
on  New  Year's  Day,  1192,  set  out  for  Jerusalem  through  a 
country  full  of  greater  obstacles  than  they  had  yet  encoun- 
tered. They  were  too  full  of  spirit  to  be  discouraged  until 
they  came  to  Bethany,  where  the  two  Grand  Masters 6  re- 
presented to  Richard  the  imprudence  of  laying  siege  to  such 
fortifications  as  those  of  Jerusalem  at  such  a  season  of  the 
year,  while  Ascalon  was  ready  in  his  rear  for  a  post  whence 
the  enemy  would  attack  him. 

He  yielded  and  retreated  to  Ascalon,  which  Saladin  had 
ruined  and  abandoned,  and  began  eagerly  to  repair  the  for- 
tifications so  as  to  be  able  to  leave  a  garrison  there.  The 
soldiers  grumbled,  saying  they  had  not  come  to  Palestine 
to  build  Ascalon,  but  to  conquer  Jerusalem  ;  whereupon 
Richard  set  the  example  of  himself  carrying  stones,  and 
called  on  Leopold7  to  do  the  same.  The  sulky  reply, 
''  He  was  not  the  son  of  a  mason,"  so  irritated  Richard 
that  he  struck  him  a  blow ;  Leopold  straightway  quitted  the 
army  and  returned  to  Austria. 

It  was  not  without  great  grief  and  man)'  struggles  that 
Cceur  de  Lion  finally  gave  up  his  hopes  of  taking  Jerusalem. 
He  again  advanced  as  far  as  Bethany ;  but  a  quarrel  with 
Hugh  of  Burgundy  and  the  defection  of  the  Austrians  made 
it  impossible  for  him  to  proceed,  and  he  turned  back  to 
Ramla.     While  riding  out  with  a  party  of  knights,  one  of 

fi  The  masters  of  the  two  orders  of  religions  knighthood,  the 
Templars  and  Hospitallers.  7   The  Duke  of  Austria. 


KING   RICHARD  IN  THE  HOLY   LAND.  <>7 

them  called  out,  "This  way,  my  lord,  and  you  will  see 
Jerusalem  1"  "Alas!"  said  Richard,  hiding  his  face  with 
his  mantle,  "those  who  are  not  worthy  to  win  the  Holy  City 
are  not  worthy  to  behold  it!"  He  returned  to  Acre,  but 
there  hearing  that  Saladin  was  besieging  Joppa,  he  embarked 
his  troops  and  sailed  to  its  aid.  The  Crescent8  shone  on 
its  walls  as  he  entered  the  harbour;  but  while  he  looked  on 
in  dismay  he  was  hailed  by  a  priest  who  had  leaped  into 
the  sea  and  swum  out  to  inform  him  that  there  was  yet  time 
to  rescue  the  garrison,  though  the  town  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  enemy.  He  hurried  his  vessel  forward,  leapt  into  the 
w.iter  breastdiigh,  dashed  upwards  on  the  shore,  ordered 
his  immediate  followers  to  raise  a  bulwark  of  casks  and 
beams  to  protect  the  landing  of  the  rest,  and  rushing  up  a 
flight  of  steps,  entered  the  city  alone.  "St.  George!  St. 
irge  !"  That  cry  dismayed  the  Infidels,  and  those  in  the 
town  to  the  number  of  three  thousand  fieri  in  the  utmost 
confusion,  and  were  pursued  for  two  miles  by  three  knights 
who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  find  him. 

Richard  pitched  his  tent  outside  the  walls,  and  remained 
there  with  so  few  troops  that  all  were  contained  in  ten  tents. 
Very  early  one  morning,  before  the  King  was  out  of  bed,  a 
man  rushed  into  his  tent,  crying  out,  "O  King!  we  are  all 
dead  men!"  Springing  up,  Richard  fiercely  silenced  him, 
"Peace  !  or  thou  diest  by  my  hand  !"  Then  while  hastily 
donning  his  suit  of  mail,  he  heard  that  the  glitter  of  arms  had 
been  seen  in  the  distance,  and  in  another  moment  the  enemy 
were  upon  them,  seven  thousand  in  number.  Richard  had 
neither  helmet  nor  shield,  and  only  seventeen  of  his  knights 
had  horses ;  but  undaunted  he  drew  up  his  little  force  in  a 
compact  body,  the  knights  kneeling  on  one  knee  covered 
by  their  shields,  their  lances  pointing  outwards,  and  between 
each  pair  an  archer  with  an  assistant  to  load  his  cross  bow ; 
8  The  standard  of  the  Mussulman  Saracens. 


98        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

and  he  stood  in  the  midst  encouraging  them  with  his  voice, 
and  threatening  to  cut  off  the  head  of  the  first  who  turned 
to  fly.  In  vain  did  the  Saracens  charge  that  mass  of  brave 
men,  not  one-seventh  of  their  number;  the  shields  and 
lances  were  impenetrable;  and  without  one  forward  step  or 
one  bolt  from  the  cross-bows  their  passive  steadiness  turned 
back  wave  after  wave  of  the  enemy. 

At  last  the  King  gave  the  word  foi  the  cross-bowmen  to 
advance,  while    he   with    the   seventeen    mounted   knights 
charged  lance  in  rest.     His  curtal  axe  bore  down  all  before 
it,  and  he  dashed  like  lightning  from  one  part  of  the  plain 
to  another,  with  not  a  moment  to  smile  at  the  opportune 
gift  from  the  polite  Malek-el-Afdal,  who,  in  the  hottest  of 
the  fight,  sent  him  two  fine  horses,  desiring  him  to  use  them 
in  escaping  from  this  dreadful  peril.     Little  did  the  Saracen 
princes  imagine  that  they  would   find  him  victorious,  and 
that  they  would  mount  two  more  pursuers  !     Next  came  a 
terrified  fugitive  with  news  that  three  thousand  Saracens  had 
entered  Joppa  !      Richard   summoned   a  few  knights,  and 
without  a  word  to  the  rest  galloped  back  into  the  city.    The 
panic  inspired  by  his  presence  instantly  cleared  the  streets, 
and  riding  back,  he  again  led  his  troops  to  the  charge ;  but 
such  were  the  swarms  of  Saracens  that  it  was  not  till  evening 
that  the  Christians  could  give  themselves  a  moment's  rest, 
of  look  round  and  feel  that  they  had  gained  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  of  victories.     Since  day-break  Richard  had 
not  laid  aside  his  sword  or  axe,  and  his  hand  was  all  over 
blistered.     No  wonder  that  the  terror  of  his  name  endured 
for  centuries  in  Palestine,  and  that  the  Arab  chided  his 
starting  horse  with,  "  Dost  think  that  yonder  is  the  Malek 
Rik  ?  "  while  the  mother  stilled  her  crying  child  by  threats 
that  the  Malek  Rik  should  take  it. 

These  violent  exertions  seriously  injured  Richard's  health, 
and   a  low  fever  placed   him   in   great   danger,  as  well  as 


KING   Kl<  HARD   IN   THE  HOLY   LAND.  99 

several  of  his  best  knights.  No  command  or  persuasion 
could  induce  the  rest  to  commence  any  enterprise  without 
him,  and  the  tidings  from  Europe  induced  him  to  conclude 
a  peace  and  return  home.  Malek-cl-Afdal  came  to  visit 
him.  and  a  truce  was  signed  for  three  years,  three  months, 
three  weeks,  three  days,  three  hours,  and  three  minutes, 
thus  so  quaintly  arranged  in  accordance  with  some  astro- 
logical views  of  the  Saracens.  Ascalon  was  to  be  demolished 
on  condition  that  free  access  to  Jerusalem  was  to  be  al- 
lowed to  the  pilgrims ;  but  Saladin  would  not  restore  the 
piece  of  the  True  Cross,  as  he  was  resolved  not  to  con- 
duce to  what  he  considered  idolatry.  Richard  sent  notice 
that  he  was  coming  back  with  double  his  present  force  to 
effect  the  conquest,  and  the  Sultan  answered  that  if  the 
Holy  City  was  to  pass  into  Frank  hands,  none  could  be 
nobler  than  those  of  the  Malek  Rik.  Fever  and  debility 
detained  Richard  a  month  longer  at  Joppa,  during  which 
time  he  sent  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury  to  carry  his  offerings 
to  Jerusalem.  The  prelate  was  invited  to  the  presence  of 
Saladin,  who  spoke  in  high  terms  of  Richard's  courage,  but 
censured  his  rash  exposure  of  his  own  life.  On  October  9, 
1 193,  Cceur  de  Lion  took  leave  of  Palestine,  watching  with 
tears  its  receding  shores,  as  he  exclaimed,  "O  Holy  Land, 
I  commend  thee  and  thy  people  unto  God.  May  He  grant 
me  yet  to  return  to  aid  thee." 


XX. 

JOHN  AND  THE  CHARTER. 

GREEN. 

[On  his  return  from  the  Crusade  Richard  was  taken  prisonei 
by  the  Duke  of  Austria.  He  bought  his  release  only  to 
find  King  Philip  attacking  his  French  dominions  ;  and  to 


ioo      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

plunge  into  wearisome  and  indecisive  wars,  in  the  midst 
of  which  he  was  slain  at  the  Castle  of  Chaluz.  His 
brother  John,  who  followed  him  on  the  throne,  was  a 
vile  and  weak  ruler,  under  whom  the  great  sovereignty 
built  up  by  Henry  the  Second  broke  utterly  down. 
Normandy,  Maine,  and  Anjou  were  reft  from  him  by 
Philip  of  France,  and  only  Aquitaine  remained  to  him 
on  that  side  the  sea.  In  England  his  lust  and  oppression 
drove  people  and  nobles  to  join  in  resistance  to  him  ;  and 
their  resistance  found  a  great  leader  in  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  Stephen  Langton.] 

From  the  moment  of  his  landing  in  England  Stephen 
Langton  had  taken  up  the  constitutional  position  of  the 
Primate  in  upholding  the  old  customs  and  rights  of  the 
realm  against  the  personal  despotism  of  the  kings.  As 
Anselm  had  withstood  William  the  Red,  as  Theobald  had 
withstood  Stephen,  so  Langton  prepared  to  withstand  and 
rescue  his  country  from  the  tyranny  of  John.  He  had  al- 
ready forced  him  to  swear  tc  observe  the  laws  of  Edward 
the  Confessor,  in  other  words  the  traditional  liberties  of  the 
realm.  When  the  baronage  refused  to  sail  for  Poitou  1  he 
compelled  the  King  to  deal  with  them  not  by  arms  but  by 
process  of  law.  But  the  work  which  he  now  undertook 
was  far  greater  and  weightier  than  this.  The  pledges  of 
Henry  the  First  had  long  been  forgotten  when  the  Justi- 
ciar brought  them  to  light,  but  Langton  saw  the  vast  im- 
portance of  such  a  precedent.  At  the  close  of  the  month 
he  produced  Henry's  charter  in  a  fresh  gathering  of  barons 
at  St.  Paul's,  and  it  was  at  once  welcomed  as  a  base  for  the 
needed  reforms.  From  London  Langton  hastened  to  the 
King,  whom  he  reached  at  Northampton  on  his  way  to 
attack  the  nobles  of  the  north,  and  wrested  from  him  a 

1  John  had  summoned  the  barons  to  Jollow  him  oversea  to 
reconquer  his  French  dominions,  but  they  refused,  saying  tliey 
owed  service  to  him  in  England,  but  not  in  foreign  lands. 


JOHN  AND  THE  CHARTER.  101 

promise  to  bring  his  strife  with  them  to  legal  judgement 
before    assailing  them  in   arms. 

With  his  allies  gathering;  abroad  John  had  doubt- 
no  wish  to  be  entangled  tin  "a  Idng  Quarrel  at  home,  i 
the  Archbishop's  mediation  allowed'  hiuv  to'  withdraw 
with  seeming  dignity.  \\'\y  a  demoflotratloh  'therefore  at 
Durham  John  marched  hastily  south  again,  and  reached 
London  in  October.  His  Justiciar  at  once  laid  before  him 
the  claims  of  the  Council  of  St.  Alban's  and  St.  Paul's  ; 
but  the  death  of  Geofiry2  at  this  juncture  freed  him  from 
the  pressure  which  his  minister  was  putting  upon  him. 
"Now,  by  God's  feet,"  cried  John,  "  I  am  for  the  first  time 
King  and  Lord  of  England,"  and  he  entrusted  the  vacant 
justiciarship  to  a  Poitevin,  Peter  des  Roches,  the  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  whose  temper  was  in  harmony  with  his  own. 
But  the  death  of  Geoffry  only  called  the  Archbishop  to  the 
front,  and  Langton  at  once  demanded  the  King's  assenv  to 
the  Charter  of  Henry  the  First. 

In  seizing  on  this  Charter  as  a  basis  for  national  action 
Langton  showed  a  political  ability  of  the  highest  order. 
The  enthusiasm  with  which  its  recital  was  welcomed 
showed  the  sagacity  with  which  the  Archbishop  had 
chosen  his  ground.  From  that  moment  the  baronage 
was  no  longer  drawn  together  in  secret  conspiracies  by  a 
sense  of  common  wrong  or  a  vague  longing  for  common 
deliverance :  they  were  openly  united  in  a  definite  claim 
of  national  freedom  and  national  law.  Secretly,  and  on 
the  pretext  of  pilgrimage,  the  nobles  met  at  St.  Edmunds- 
bury,  resolute  to  bear  no  longer  with  John's  delays.  II 
he  refused  to  restore  their  liberties  they  swore  to  make  war 
on  him  till  he  confirmed  them  by  Charter  under  the 
King's  seal,  and  they  parted  to  raise  forces  with  the 
purpose  of  presenting  their  demands  at  Christmas.  John. 
2   The  Justiciar,  Geoffry  Fit 2- Peter. 


i, ,2      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

knowing  nothing  of  the  coming  storm,  pursued  his  policy 
of  'winning  over  the  Church  by  granting  it  freedom  ot 
election,3", while  he  .embittered-  still  more  the  strife  with 
his  nobles  by' demanding  scu'tage4  from  the  northern  nobles 
who  ha*d  Trs-fa^d:  to- follow  hiixi  to  Poitou.  But  the  barons 
were  how  fea'dy  to'act,*  and*  early 'in  January,  in  the  memo- 
rable year  12 15,  they  appeared  in  arms  to  lay,  as  they  had 
planned,  their  demands  before  the  King. 

John  was  taken  by  surprise.  He  asked  for  a  truce  till 
Easter-tide,  and  spent  the  interval  in  fevered  efforts  to 
avoid  the  blow.  Again  he  offered  freedom  to  the  Church, 
and  took  vows  as  a  Crusader  against  whom  war  was  a  sacri- 
lege, while  he  called  for  a  general  oath  of  allegiance  and 
fealty  from  the  whole  body  of  his  subjects.  But  month 
after  month  only  showed  the  King  the  uselessness  of  fur- 
ther resistance.  Though  Pandulf 5  was  with  him,  bL  vassal- 
age had  as  yet  brought  little  fruit  in  the  way  of  aid  from 
Rome ;  the  commissioners  whom  he  sent  to  plead  his 
cause  at  the  shire-courts  brought  back  news  that  no  man 
would  help  him  against  the  charter  that  the  barons  claimed  : 
and  his  efforts  to  detach  the  clergy  from  the  league  of  his 
opponents  utterly  failed.  The  nation  was  against  the 
King.  He  was  far  indeed  from  being  utterly  deserted. 
His  ministers  still  clung  to  him,  men  such  as  Geoffrey  de 
Lucy,  Geoffrey  de  Furnival,  Thomas  Basset,  and  William 
Briwere,  statesmen  trained  in  the  administrative  school  of 
his  father,  and   who,   dissent   as    they  might   from   John's 


3  The  CJiurch  demanded  the  free  election  of  bishops  by  their 
chapters  and  abbots  by  their  monks.  John,  and  the  kings  before 
him  had  forced  them  to  elect  in  the  king's  p?-esence,  that  is  practi- 
cally on  his  nomination.  4  Scutate,  or  shield-money,  was  the 
commutation  paid  in  lien  of  military  service  by  all  who  owed 
service  to  the  king.  5  The  Pope's  legate.  To  escape  from  a 
sentence  of  excommunication-  John  had  sic  oped  to  ow>i  himself 
vassal  oj  the  see  cf  Rome. 


JOHN  AND  THE  CHARTER.  103 

mere  oppression,  still  looked  on  the  power  of  the  Crown 
as  the  one  barrier  against  feudal  anarchy :  and  beside 
them  stood  some  of  the  great  nobles  of  royal  blood,  his 
father's  bastard  Earl  William  of  Salisbury,  his  cousin  Earl 
William  of  Warenne,  and  Henry  Earl  of  Cornwall,  a  grand- 
son of  Henry  the  Eirst.  With  him  too  remained  Ranulf, 
Earl  of  Chester,  and  the  wiiest  and  noblest  of  the  barons, 
William  Marshal,  the  elder  Earl  of  Pembroke.  William 
Marshal  had  shared  in  the  rising  of  the  younger  Henry 
against  Henry  the  Second,  and  stood  by  him  as  he  died  ; 
he  had  shared  in  the  overthrow  of  William  Longchamp 
and  in  the  outlawry  of  John.0  He  was  now  an  old  man, 
firm,  as  we  shall  see  in  his  aftercourse,  to  recall  the  govern- 
ment to  the  path  of  freedom  and  law,  but  shrinking  from  a 
strife  which  might  bring  back  the  anarchy  of  Stephen's  day, 
and  looking  for  reforms  rather  in  the  bringing  constitutional 
pressure  to  bear  upon  the  King  than  in  forcing  them  from 
him  by  arms. 

But  cling  as  such  men  might  to  John,  they  clung  to  him 
rather  as  mediators  than  adherents.  Their  sympathies  went 
with  the  demands  of  the  barons  when  the  delay  which  had 
been  granted  was  over  and  the  nobles  again  gathered  in 
arms  at  Brackley  in  Northamptonshire  to  lay  their  claims 
before  the  King.  Nothing  marks  more  strongly  the  abso- 
lutely despotic  idea  of  his  sovereignty  which  John  had 
formed  than  the  passionate  surprise  which  breaks  out  in 
his  reply.  "  Why  do  they  not  ask  for  my  kingdom  ?  "  he 
cried.  "I  will  never  grant  such  liberties  as  will  make  me 
a  slave  !"  The  imperialist  theories  of  the  lawyers  of  his 
father's  court  had  done  their  work.     Held   at  bay  by  the 

'  II  'ill iain  Longchamp,  who  had  been  left  as  regent  of  England 
by  Richard^  'was  driven  from  the  realm  by  the  nobles;  and  John, 
who  strove  to  take  advantage  of  his  brother's  absence  for  his  own 
ambitior  >-,  ,-,l  to  follow  him  o-iersea. 


104      PROSE  READINGS  FROM-ENGLISII  HISTORY. 

practical  sense  of  Henry,  they  had  told  on  the  more  head- 
strong nature  of  his  sons.  Richard  and  John  both  held 
>\ith  Glanvill  that  the  will  of  the  prince  was  the  law  of  the 
land  ;  and  to  fetter  that  will  by  the  customs  and  franchises 
which  were  embodied  in  the  barons'  claims  seemed  to  John 
a  monstrous  usurpation  of  his  rights. 

But  no  imperialist  theories  had  touched  the  minds  of  his 
people.  The  country  rose  as  one  man  at  his  refusal.  At  the 
close  of  May  London  threw  open  her  gates  to  the  forces 
of  the  barons,  now  arrayed  under  Robert  Fitz-Walter  as 
"  Marshal  of  the  Army  of  God  and  Holy  Church."  Exeter 
and  Lincoln  followed  the  example  of  the  capital ;  promises 
of  aid  came  from  Scotland  and  Wales ;  the  northern  barons 
marched  hastily  under  Eustace  de  Vesci  to  join  their  com- 
rades in  London.  Even  the  nobles  who  had  as  yet  clung 
to  the  King,  but  whose  hopes  of  conciliation  were  blasted 
by  his  obstinacy,  yielded  at  last  to  the  summons  of  the 
"  Army  of  God."  Panel ulf  indeed  and  Archbishop  Lang- 
ton  still  remained  with  John,  but  they  counselled  as  Earl 
Ranulf  and  William  Marshal  counselled  his  acceptance  of 
the  Charter.  None  in  fact  counselled  its  rejection  save  his 
new  Justiciar,  the  Poitevin  Peter  des  Roches,  and  other 
foreigners  who  knew  the  barons  purposed  driving  them 
from  the  land.  But  even  the  number  of  these  was  small  ; 
there  was  a  moment  when  John  found  himself  with  but 
seven  knights  at  his  back  and  before  him  a  nation  in  arms. 
Quick  as  he  was,  he  had  been  taken  utterly  by  surprize. 
It  was  in  vain  that  in  the  short  respite  he  had  gained  from 
Christmas  to  Easter  he  had  summoned  mercenaries  to  his 
aid  and  appealed  to  his  new  suzerain,7  the  Pope.  Sum- 
mons and  appeal  were  alike  too  late.  Nursing  wrath  in 
his  heart,  John  bowed  to  necessity  and  called  the  barons 
to    a   conference    on    an    island   in    the   Thames    between 

7  Overlord. 


THE  FRIARS  AND  THE  TOWNS.  105 

Windsor  and  Staines,  near  a  marshy  meadow  by  the  river 
Side,  the  meadow  of  Runnymede.  The  King  encamped  on 
one  bank  of  the-  river,  the  barons  covered  the  flat  of  Runny- 
mede on  the  other.  Their  delegates  met  on  the  15th  of 
July  in  the  island  between  them,  but  the  negotiations  were 
a  mere  cloak  to  cover  John's  purpose  of  unconditional  sub- 
mission. The  Great  Charter  was  discussed  and  agreed  to 
in  a  single  day. 


XXI. 

THE  FRIARS  AND  THE  TOWNS. 
BREWER. 

[The  rest  of  the  reign  of  John  and  almost  the  whole  reign 
of  his  son,  Henry  the  Third,  was  a  struggle  between  king 
and  people  for  the  confirmation  and  developement  of  the 
rights  embodied  in  the  Great  Charter.  Politically  it  was 
a  time  of  much  misgovernment  and  trouble,  a  trouble 
which  ended  at  last  in  the  great  outbreak  called  the 
Barons'  War.  But  socially  and  religiously  it  was  a  time  of 
vast  progress.  England  grew  richer  and  more  vigorous, 
the  universities  became  great  centres  of  learning  and 
education ;  art  flourished ;  and  religion  was  revived  by 
the  energy  of  the  Friars.  The  Friars  were  the  mission- 
aries of  the  towns,  which  were  now  rising  into  import- 
ance.] 

It  may  be  difficult,  perhaps  impossible,  at  this  distance, 
to  realize  the  social  condition  of  the  towns  of  Europe  in  the 
thirteenth  century,  and  consequently  the  importance  of  this 
new  movement.  The  evidence  for  the  history  of  the  land 
is  complete  ;  for  the  towns  it  is  meagre  and  unsatisfactory. 
Their  municipal  institutions  are  in  full  vigour  long  before 
history  affords   the  least  insight  into  their  social   condition 


106     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

or  material  prosperity.  A  political  order  is  established  among 
them,  has  been  working  harmoniously  for  centuries,  in  a 
state  of  society  utterly  inadequate,  in  all  appearance,  to  the 
creation  of  such  wise  laws,  of  authority  so  judiciously 
modified.  In  these  communities  we  trace  not  the  germs, 
but  the  fully  developed  forms  of  self-government,  at  a  time 
when,  in  material  comforts,  the  towns  of  Western  Europe 
differed  little  from  the  rudest  mud  hovels  or  shanties  of  the 
remotest  country  village  in  Ireland  or  the  West  of  Scotland. 
If  it  be  true  that  the  English  artizan  stepped  out  of  his 
mud-hovel  into  a  more  muddy  street,  when  the  Moor  at 
one  corner  of  Europe1  and  the  Florentine  at  the  other  were 
enjoying  the  luxury  of  palaces  and  the  civic  improvements 
of  a  polished  capital ;  equally  true  it  is  that  the  English 
mechanic  was  living  in  the  enjoyment  of  municipal  institu- 
tions and  privileges  which,  with  all  the  advantages  of 
imitation  and  the  lapse  of  five  centuries,  his  predecessors 
in  the  arts  have  yet  failed  to  realize. 

Notwithstanding,  then,  the  many  material  discomforts, 
and  the  absence  of  ail  due  means  of  cleanliness  and  health, 
requisite  for  preserving  large  masses  of  population,  crowded 
into  narrow  streets,  from  degenerating  into  brutality,  the 
town  populations  of  England  and  of  Europe  were  pre- 
served in  some  measure  from  that  moral  degradation  which 
might  have  been  anticipated  from  their  social  condition. 
Perhaps  the  exertion  necessary  for  defending  their  privileges 
may  have  secured  this  happy  result ;  still  a  vast  amount  of 
squalor  and  wretchedness,  of  ignorance  and  poverty,  exist- 
ed in  the  towns  without  any  adequate  means  for  counter- 
action. Improvement  could  not  keep  pace  with  the  rapid 
increase  of  population.  Fever  and  plague,  strange  and 
destructive  epidemics,  spread  with  unexampled  rapidity. 
Whole  quarters  of  the  city  suffered  from  the  scourge,  without 
1   The  Moors  he//  Southern  Spain. 


THE  FRIARS  AND  THE   TOWNS.  107 

adequate  means  of  prevention;  without  remedy  or  repara- 
tion for  the  evil  when  it  had  occurred.  Markets  were 
scantily  and  irregularly  supplied  ;  roads  intercepted  by  a 
feudal  aristocracy  or  a  discontented  sovereign  ;  an  entire 
population,  as  in  the  industrious  towns  of  the  Low  Countries, 
exposed  to  periodical  starvation.  The  narrowness  and 
intricacy  of  the  streets,  serving  as  a  protection  against  the 
mounted  knight  and  his  men-at-arms,  served  also  a  worse 
enemy,  the  plague  or  the  sweating  sickness,  and  decimated 
the  population,  to  whom  sanitary  precautions  were  unknown 
The  lazy  ditches  and  stagnant  ponds,  into  which  ran  the 
refuse  and  garbage  of  the  shambles, — a  poor  protection 
to  the  various  quarters  of  the  town, — sent  up  their  fetid 
odours,  rank  with  fever  and  ague,  into  the  stifled  chamber 
and  open  booth  of  the  artizan. 

Upon  the  higher  ground,  as  may  be  seen  in  many  towns 

in  England  at  the  present  day,  stood  the  Guildhall  and  the 

Ward  ofthe  Aldermen,  distinguished  by  houses  partially  built 

of  stone  pilfered  from  the  old  Roman  monuments,  forming  a 

striking  contrast  to  the  outer  circle  and  the  suburbs,  where, 

down  to  the  water's  edge  and  straggling  beyond  it,  in  an 

uncertain  and  precarious  tenure,  rose  wooden  sheds,  rudely 

plastered  or  white-washed,   on  the  edge  of  the  town-ditch, 

sheltering  the  last  new  settlers  that  had  flocked  into   the 

town  for  occupation  or  protection  ;  a  mixed  race,  of  whom 

little  inquiry  was  made ;   tolerated,  not  acknowledged  ;  of 

all  blood,  all  climates,  and  all  religions  ;  permitted  to  live 

or  die,  as  it  pleased  God  or  themselves,  provided  only  that 

they  yielded  due  obedience  to  the  proper  civic  authorities. 

Here  the  leprosy  and  the  plague  were  certain  to  enter  first; 

here  infection  did  its  worst.     In  the  higher  city  there  might 

be   parish  churches   and  schools  ;  a  skilfui  leech2  to  look 

after  the  welfare,  bodily  and  spiritual,  of  the  inhabitants.    In 

2  Physician. 


ioS      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

defect  of  these,  the  different  guilds3  established  in  the  City 
proper  provided  in  some  measure  for  the  instruction  and  com- 
fort of  the  master  and  his  apprentices.  The  city  ponds  and 
rivulets  yielded  fresh  water  to  those  who  were  willing  to 
fetch  it ;  the  chaplain  of  the  guild,  its  church  or  chapel, 
provided  for  the  common  worship  and  spiritual  welfare  of 
its  members  ;  the  common  purse  of  the  guild  furnished 
relief  against  sudden  misfortune,  and  paid  for  the  funeral 
obsequies  and  masses  of  the  defunct  brother.  But  for  the 
unguilded  population,  who  resided  in  the  suburbs,  and  in- 
creased daily  and  rapidly  in  the  unsettled  condition  of  the 
country  ;  or  as  the  oppression  or  harshness  or  stern  justice 
of  the  feudal  baron  made  the  town  a  more  safe  and  desirable 
abiding  place  than  the  country,  for  these  there  were  no  such 
advantages.  Imagination  can  only  conceive  their  condition  ; 
history  is  silent. 

Now,  it  was  to  this  class  of  the  population,  in  the  first 
instance,  that  the  attention  of  the  Franciscan  4  was  directed  ; 
in  these  wretched  localities  his  convent  and  Order  were 
seated.  I  have  not  been  able  to  examine  the  primitive 
position  of  all  their  religious  houses  in  England  ;  but  a 
glance  at  the  more  important  will  show  the  general  correct- 
ness of  this  statement.  In  London,  York,  Warwick,  Oxford, 
Bristol,  Lynn,  and  elsewhere,  their  convents  stood  in  the 
suburbs  and  abutted  on  the  city  walls.  They  made  choice 
of  the  low,  swampy,  and  undrained  spots  in  the  large  towns, 
among  the  poorest  and  most  neglected  quarters.  Unlike 
the  magnificent  monasteries  and  abbeys,  which  excite  ad- 
miration to  this  day,  their  buildings,  to  the  very  last,  retained 
their  primitive  squat,  low,  and  meagre  proportions.  Their 
first  house,  at  their  settlement  in  London,  stood  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Cornhill,  where  they  built  cells,  stuffing 

3  Companies  for  trade.  4  An  order  of  friars  founded  by 

Francis  of  Assist. 


THE  FRIARS  AM)  THE  TOWNS.  i°9 

the  party-walls  with  dried  grass.  Near  the  shambles  in 
Newgate,  and  close  upon  the  city  gate  of  that  name,  on 
a  spot  appropriately  called  Stinking  Lane,  rose  the  chief 
house  of  the  Order  in  England.  In  Oxford  the  parisn  of 
St  Ebbe's,  in  Cambridge  the  decayed  town  gaol,  in  Norwich 
the  water  side,  running  close  to  the  walls  of  the  town,  arc 
the  special  and  chosen  spots  of  the  Franciscan  missionary. 

In  all  instances  the  poverty  of  their  buildings  corre- 
sponded with  those  of  the  surrounding  district :  their  living 

d  lodging  are  no  better  than  the  poorest  among  whom 
they  settle.  At  Cambridge  their  chapel  was  erected  by  a 
single  carpenter  in  one  day.  At  Shrewsbury,  where  owing 
to  the  liberality  of  the  townsmen,  the  dormitory  5  walls  had 
been  built  of  stone,  the  minister  of  the  Order  had  them 
removed  and  replaced  with  mud.  Decorations  and  orna- 
ments of  all  kinds  were  zealously  excluded.  At  Gloucester, 
a  friar  was  deprived  of  his  hood  for  painting  his  pulpit,  and 
the  warden  of  the  same  place  suffered  similar  punishment 
tolerating  pictures.  Their  meals  corresponded  with  the 
poverty  of  their  buildings.  Mendicancy  6  might  encourage 
idleness,  but  it  also  secured  effectually  the  mean  and  meagre 
diet  of  the  friars.  It  kept  them  on  a  par  with  the  masses 
among  whom  their  founder  intended  them  to  labour,  They 
could  not  sell  their  offerings ;  they  were  not  permitted  to 
receive  more  than  their  actual  necessities  required ;  meal, 
salt,  figs,  and  apples;  wood  for  firing;  stale  beer  or  milk. 
Whatever  the  weather,  however  rough  the  way,  they  threaded 
the  muddy  streets  and  unpaved  roads  barefooted  and  bare- 
headed, leaving  the  prints  of  their  bleeding  feet  upon  the 
ground,  in  gowns  of  the  coarsest  cloth,  which  an  economical 
vestryman  of  this  nineteenth  century  would  be  ashamed  to 
•offer  to  the  most  refractory  pauper  in  a  parish  workhouse. 

1  Place  for  sleeping,  G  The  Friars  subsisted  by  beg^r  ; 

-  alms. 


no      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 


XXII. 

DEATH  OF  SIMON  OF  MONTFORT. 
PROTHERO. 

[While  this  great  social  improvement  was  going  on  the  mis- 
government  of  Henry  the  Third  was  striving  to  undo  all 
that  the  Great  Charter  had  done.  At  last  the  long 
struggle  between  the  King  and  nobles  drove  the  nation 
to  arms  :  and  Earl  Simon  of  Leicester,  Simon  de  Mont- 
fort,  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  patriotic  barons  who 
were  resolved  to  force  Henry  to  rule  according  to  law. 
For  a  time  they  were  successful ;  the  King  was  defeated 
at  Lewes  ;  and  the  government  passed  into  the  hands 
of  Earl  Simon  and  his  supporters.  But  strife  broke  out 
among  the  patriots  themselves  ;  the  bulk  of  the  nobles 
forsook  the  Earl ;  and  the  King's  son,  Edward,  afterwards 
King  Edward  the  First,  gathered  an  army  and  marched 
against  him.  Earl  Simon  was  expecting  the  coming  of  re- 
inforcements under  his  son  to  strengthen  the  weak  force 
about  him,  when  Edward  (who  had  already  surprized  the 
son's  force  and  cut  it  to  pieces)  fell  upon  De  Montfort's 
army  at  Evesham.] 

When  the  Earl x  heard  that  the  troops 2  were  seen  ap- 
proaching, he  cried  out  with  joy,  "  It  is  my  son.  But  never- 
theless," he  added,  "  go  up  and  look  and  bring  me  word 
again."  His  barber,  Nicholas,  who  was  gifted  with  a  long  sight 
and  had  some  knowledge  of  heraldry,  mounted  the  belltower 
of  the  abbey  3  and  appears  to  have  been  followed  by  his 
master.    At  first  Nicholas  distinguished  the  ensigns  of  young 

1  Earl  Simon  of  Montfort,  who  was  encamped  at  Evesham* 
Of  Edward.  3  Of  Evesham. 


M  AT1I  OF  SIMON    DE  MONTKOKT.  til 

Simon  and  his  partisans  floating  to  the  van  of  the  advancing 
force.4  Anothei  minute,  and  he  saw  they  were  in  hostile 
hands,  a  bitter  proof  of  the  fate  of  his  friends,  and  a  warning 
of  his  own.  From  the  tower-roof  one  can  still  look  out  with 
Simon's  eyes  upon  the  beautiful  landscape  below.  Straight 
in  front  of  him,  about  a  mile  distant,  he  looked  upon  the 
slopes  of  Green  Hill,  glistening  with  the  weapons  of  those 
who  were  thirsting  for  his  blood.  A  little  to  the  right,  over 
the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  his  eye  followed  the  course  of 
the  winding  stream  towards  the  place  where  his  home 
lay.  Between  him  and  the  hill  stretched  a  small  plain, 
over  which  he  would  have  to  pass  to  his  death,  a  plain 
probably  then  as  now  bright  with  gardens,  and  golden 
with  the  ripening  fruit  of  autumn.  Beneath  him  lay  the 
little  town,5  and  as  he  glanced  at  the  bridge,  while  one 
thought  of  escape  crossed  his  mind,  he  may  have  seen  the 
horsemen  of  Mortimer 6  hastening  down  to  block  his  path. 
Behind  him  lay  the  river,  before  him  the  foe.  It  needed 
not  many  moments  to  show  him  that  all  was  over.  And 
bitterer  than  the  thought  of  his  own  fate,  with  years  of  life 
and  power  yet  in  him,  more  numbing  than  the  vague  sense  of 
what  had  befallen  his  son,  must  have  been  the  conviction 
that  for  a  time  at  least  the  cause  which  he  had  at  heart, 
and  for  the  sake  of  which  he  had  looked  death  in  the  face, 
must  perish  with  him.  For  a  time  at  least :  let  us  hope 
that  in  his  moment  of  agony  he  was  consoled  by  some 
vision  of  what  was  to  come,  by  the  faith  that  in  after  years 
one  yet  greater  and  far  more  fortunate  than  he  would  arise 
and  protect  the  liberties  of  the  nation  he  had  adopted  for 
his  own.     But  it  was  no  time  for  dreams ;  he  would  sell  his 

4  Edward  had  surprized  the  young  De  Montfort's  army,  ana 
taken  its  standards,  which  he  displayed  in  front  of  his  own 
troops  to  aid  him  in  taking  the  Earl  py  surprize.  5  Of 

Evesham.  G  A  baron  of  the  Welsh  border  who  was  helping 

Edn 

6 


ii2      FROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

life  as  dearly  as  he  could.  ' l  May  the  Lord  have  mercy 
upon  our  souls,"  he  said,  "  for  our  bodies  are  undone." 

Outnumbered  as  they  were  by  three  to  one,  victory  was  out 
of  the  question.  The  Earl's  friends  urged  him  to  fly,  but  the 
thought  of  flight  for  himself  was  not  in  his  mind.  A  natural 
flash  of  anger  burst  forth  in  the  remark  that  it  was  the 
folly  of  his  own  sons  which  had  brought  him  to  this  pass. 
Nevertheless  he  endeavoured  to  persuade  his  eldest  son 
Henry,  his  old  comrade  Hugh  Despenser,  and  others  to  fly 
while  there  was  yet  time,  and  maintain  the  good  cause 
when  fortune  should  smile  again.  But  one  and  all  refused 
to  desert  him,  preferring  not  to  live  if  their  leader  died. 
"  Come  then,"  he  said,  "  and  let  us  die  like  men ;  for  we 
have  fasted  here  and  we  shall  breakfast  in  heaven."  His 
troops  were  hastily  shriven 7  by  the  aged  Bishop  of  Wor- 
cester, who  had  performed  the  same  office  a  year  before 
upon  a  happier  field.8  Then  he  led  them  out  against  the 
enemy,  with  the  white  cross  again  upon  their  shoulders, 
in  as  close  order  as  he  could.  In  the  midst  of  them  was  the 
King,9  for  Simon  seems  to  the  last  to  have  cherished  a  faint 
hope  of  cutting  his  way  through  his  adversaries ;  and  as  af 
Lewes,  the  possession  of  the  royal  person  was  everything  tc 
him.  As  they  n eared  the  hill,  Prince  Edward's  troops,  who 
had  been  in  no  hurry  to  leave  their  point  of  vantage,  began 
to  descend  upon  them.  Simon's  heart  was  struck  with 
admiration  of  the  fair  array  before  him,  so  different  from 
that  which  he  had  met  a  year  before ;  his  soldierly  pride 
told  him  to  whom  their  skill  was  due.  "  By  the  arm  of  St 
James,"  he  cried,  "they  come  on  well;  they  learnt  that 
not  of  themselves,  but  of  me.'' 

On  the   south-western  slope   of  Green  Hill    there  is   a 

7  Absolved  after  confession  of  their  sins.  8  At  Lewes, 

where  Earl  Simon  won  a  great  victory.  9  Henry  the  Third, 

whom  the  Earl  had  kept  a  virtual  prisoner. 


DEATH  OV  SIMON  DE  MONTFORT.  113 

small  valley  or  combe ;  in  this  hollow  the  chief  struggle 
raged.  On  the  further  side,  in  the  grounds  of  a  private 
house,  stands  the  obelisk,  which  marks  the  spot  where,  ac- 
cording to  tradition,  Simon  de  Montfort  fell.  Towards  the 
higher  part  of  the  combe  is  a  spring,  still  called  De  Mont- 
fort's  Well,  which,  on  the  day  of  the  battle,  is  said  to  have 
run  with  blood.  Prince  Edward  began  the  fray,  and  while 
the  Earl  was  engaged  with  him,  Gloucester  came  up  with  a 
second  body  on  his  left,  so  that  he  was  soon  surrounded. 
The  Welsh  infantry,10  poor,  half-armed  troops,  fled  at  once, 
and  were  cut  down  in  the  neighbouring  gardens  by  Mor-r 
timer's  forces,  which  must  now  have  been  advancing  from 
the  rear.  Simon's  horse  was  killed  under  him  ;  his  eldest 
son  was  among  the  first  to  fall.  When  this  was  told  him, 
he  cried,  "  Is  it  so?  then  indeed  is  it  time  for  me  to  die; " 
and  rushing  upon  the  enemy  with  redoubled  fury,  and 
wielding  his  sword  with  both  his  hands,  the  old  warrior  laid 
about  him  with  so  terrific  force,  that  had  there  been  but 
half  a  dozen  more  like  himself,  says  one  who  saw  the  fight, 
he  would  have  turned  the  tide  of  battle.  As  it  was  he 
nearly  gained  the  crest  of  the  hill.  But  it  was  not  to  be. 
For  a  while  he  stood  "like  a  tower,"  but  at  length  a  foot 
soldier,  lifting  up  his  coat  of  mail,  pierced  him  in  the  back, 
and,  with  the  words  "  Dieu  merci "  n  on  his  lips,  he  fell. 
Then  the  battle  became  a  butchery.  No  quarter  was  asked 
or  given.  The  struggle  lasted  for  about  two  hours  in  the 
early  summer  morning,  and  then  all  was  over. 

10  The  bulk  of  the  EarPs  army  consisted  of  Welshmen,  whom 
lu  had  brought  with  him  across  the  Severn  when  marching  to 
n  his  son'.  »  Thank  God  J 


ii4      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

XXIII. 

AN  EARLY  ELECTION  TO  PARLIAMENT. 
PALGRAVE. 

[On  the  death  of  Earl  Simon  the  cause  of  English  freedom 
and  English  law  seemed  lost.  But  his  conqueror  was  as 
averse  from  lawless  rule  as  the  Earl  himself;  and  when 
Edward  became  king  on  his  father's  death  he  ruled  justly 
and  nobly.  What  he  set  himself  to  do  from  the  first  was 
the  work  of  wise  government  and  the  making  of  wise 
laws.  Till  now  English  kings  had  made  laws  only  with 
the  consent  of  their  bishops  and  higher  barons,  gathered 
in  the  Great  Council  of  the  realm.  It  was  Edward  who 
first  made  laws  in  what  has  ever  since  been  called  Parlia- 
ment. For  this  purpose  he  called  on  the  shires  and 
larger  towns  to  choose  men  to  "  represent  "  them,  or  ap- 
pear in  their  stead  in  the  Great  Council ;  the  shires  sending 
knights  of  the  shire,  the  towns  burgesses.  These,  added 
to  the  peers  or  high  nobles  and  to  the  bishops,  made  up 
Parliament.  It  was  at  a  later  time  that  Parliament  divided 
itself  into  two  Houses,  the  House  of  Lords,  in  which 
sate  the  bishops  and  peers,  and  the  House  of  Commons, 
in  which  sate  the  burgesses  and  knights  of  the  shire. 
The  business  of  Parliament  was  not  only  to  make  good 
laws  for  the  realm,  but  to  grant  money  to  the  King  for  the 
needs  of  the  state  in  peace  and  war,  and  to  authorize  him 
to  raise  this  money  by  taxes  or  subsidies  from  his  subjects. 
So  at  first  people  saw  little  of  the  great  good  of  such 
Parliaments,  but  dreaded  their  calling  together,  because 
they  brought  taxes  with  them.  Nor  did  men  seek  as 
they  do  now  to  be  chosen  as  members  of  Parliament,  for 
the  way  thither  was  long  and  travel  costly,  and  so  they 
did  their  best  not  to  be  chosen,  and  when  chosen  had  to 
be  bound  over  under  pain  of  heavy  fines  to  serve  in  Par- 
liament. This  is  what  Sir  Francis  Palgrave  has  striken  to 
bring  out  in  his  picture  of  an  election  under  Edward  the 
First.] 


AN  EARLY  ELECTION  TO  PARLIAMENT.  115 

During  the  last  half-hour  the  suitors1  had  been  gather- 
ing round  the  shire-oak,-  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  high 
officer  whose  duty  it  was  to  preside.11  Notwithstanding  the 
size  of  the  meeting  there  was  an  evident  system  in  the  crowd. 
A  considerable  proportion  of  the  throng  consisted  of  little 
knots  of  hcisbandmen  or  churls,  four  or  five  of  whom 
were  generally  standing  together,  each  company  seeming 
to  compose  a  deputation.  The  churls  might  be  easily  dis- 
tinguished by  their  dress,  a  long  frock  of  coarse  yet  snow- 
white  linen,  hanging  down  to  the  same  length  before  and 
behind,  and  ornamented  round  the  neck  with  broidery 
rudely  executed  in  blue  thread.  They  wore  in  fact  the 
attire  of  the  carter  and  ploughman,  a  garb  which  was  com- 
mon enough  in  country  parts  about  five-and-twenty  years 
ago,4  but  which  will  probably  soon  be  recollected  only  as  an 
ancient  costume,  cast  away  with  all  the  other  obsolete  cha- 
racteristics of  merry  OKI  England.  These  groups  of  pea- 
santry were  the  representatives  of  their  respective  townships, 
the  rural  communes  into  which  the  whole  realm  was  divided  f 
and  each  had  a  species  of  chieftain  or  headman  in  the  per- 
son of  an  individual  who,  though  it  was  evident  that  he  be- 
longed to  the  same  rank  in  society,  gave  directions  to  the  rest. 
Interspersed  among  the  churls,  though  not  confounded  with 
them,  were  also  very  many  well-clad  persons,  possessing  an 
appearance  of  rustic  respectability,  who  were  also  subjected 
to  some  kind  of  organization,  being  collected  into  sets  of 
twelve  men  each,  who  were  busily  employed  in  confabula- 
tion among  themselves.  These  were  "  the  sworn  centenary 
ities,"  or    jurors,  the    sworn    men    who     answered   for 

1  The  holders  of  land  from  the  Crown,  who  were  hound  to 
attend  at  the  coitntv-court  or  shire-meeting.  2  Round  which 

the  shire-meeting  was  held.  3  The  sheriff.  '  Known 

the  '■'■smock-frock.'"  5  The  township  usually  answered  to 

v'    mod  >  >i  parish. 


n6     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

represented  the  several  hundreds.6  A  third  class  of  mem- 
bers of  the  shire  court  could  be  equally  distinguished, 
proudly  known  by  their  gilt  spurs  and  blazoned  tabards 7  as 
the  provincial  knighthood,  and  who,  though  thus  honoured, 
appeared  to  mix  freely  and  affably  in  converse  with  the  rest 
of  the  commons  8  of  the  shire. 

A  flourish  of  trumpets  announced  the  approach  of  the 
high  sheriff,  Sir  Giles  de  Argentein,  surrounded  by  his 
escort  of  javelin  men,  tall  yeomen,  all  arrayed  in  a  uniform 
suit  of  livery,  and  accompanied  amongst  others  by  four 
knights,  the  coroners,9  who  took  cognizance  of  all  pleas 
that  concerned  the  king's  rights  within  the  county,  and  who, 
though  they  yielded  precedence  to  the  sheriff,  were  evi- 
dently considered  to  be  almost  of  equal  importance  with 
him.  "My  masters,"  said  the  sheriff  to  the  assembled 
crowd,  "  even  now  hath  the  port-joye  10  of  the  chancery  de- 
livered to  me  certain  most  important  writs  of  our  sovereign 
lord  the  King,  containing  his  grace's  high  commands."  At 
this  time  the  chancellor,  who  might  be  designated  as  prin- 
cipal secretary  of  state  for  all  departments,  was  the  great 
medium  of  communication  between  king  and  subject ;  what- 
ever the  sovereign  had  to  ask  or  to  tell  was  usually  asked 
or  told  by,  or  under,  the  directions  of  this  high  functionary. 
Now  although  the  gracious  declarations  which  the  chan- 
cellor was  charged  to  deliver  were  much  diversified  in  their 
form,  yet  somehow  or  other  they  all  conveyed  the  same 
intent.  Whether  directing  the  presentation  of  the  peace  or 
preparing  for  the  prosecution  of  a  war,  whether  announcing 
a  royal  birth  or  a  royal  death,  the  knighthood  of  the  king's 

(i  A  hundred  was  a  group  of  townships  or  parishes. 

7  The  tabard  was  an  overcoat  emblazoned  with  the  armorial 
bearings  of  the  knight.  8  All  classes  below  that  of  the  peers, 

or  greater  nobles.  9  The  coroners  of  our  day  have  sunk  in 

dignity,  and  have  now  only  the  duty  of  inouiry  into  violent 
deaths.  10  The  port-joye  was  the  messenger  of  the  chancellor. 


*     A\   EARLY  ELECTION  TO  PARLIAMENT.  117 

son  of  the  marriage  of  the  king's  daughter,  the  mandates 
of  our  ancient  kings  invariably  conclude  with  a  request  or 
a  demand  for  money's  worth  or  money. 

The  present  instance  offered  no  exception  to  the  general 
rule.  King  Edward,11  greeting  his  loving  subjects,  expatiated 
upon  the  miseries  which  the  realm  was  likely  to  sustain  by 
the  invasion  of  the  wicked,  barbarous,  and  perfidious  Scots. 
Church  and  state,  he  alleged,  were  in  equal  danger,  and 
"  inasmuch  as  that  which  concerneth  all  ought  to  be  deter- 
mined by  the  advice  of  all  concerned,  we  have  determined," 
continued  the  writ,  "  to  hold  our  Parliament  at  Westminster 
in  eight  days  from  the  feast  of  St.  Hilary."  The  effect  of 
the  announcement  was  magical.  Parliament  !  Even  before 
the  second  syllable  of  the  word  had  been  uttered  visions  of 
aids  '-'  and  subsidies  rose  before  the  appalled  multitude,  grim 
shadows  of  assessors  and  collectors  floated  in  the  ambient 
air.  Sir  Gilbert  Hastings  instinctively  plucked  his  purse  out 
of  his  sleeve  ;  drawing  the  strings  together,  he  twirled, 
twisted,  and  tied  them  in  the  course  of  half-a-minute  of 
nervous  agitation  into  a  Gordian  knot  which  apparently 
defied  any  attempt  to  undo  it,  except  by  the  means  prac- 
tised by  the  son  of  Ammon.13  The  abbot  of  Oseney14  forth- 
with guided  his  steed  to  the  right-about  and  rode  away  from 
the  meeting  as  fast  as  he  could  trot,  turning  the  deafest  of 
all  deaf  ears  to  the  monitions  which  he  received  to  stay. 
The  sheriff  and  the  other  functionaries  alone  preserved  a 
tranquil,  but  not  a  cheerful  gravity,  as  Sir  Giles  commanded 
his  clerk  to  read  the  whole  of  the  writ,  by  which  he  was 
commanded  "  to  cause  two  knights  to  be  elected  for  the 
shire  ;  and  from  every  city  within  his  bailiwick  two  citizens  ; 

The  first.  12  Grants  of  money  made  to  the  Crown  by 

/■  ;r [lament  and  raised  by  taxation.  13  Alexander  the  Great. 

who  claimed  to  be  the  son  of  the  God  Ammon,  and  cut  the 

Gordian  knot,  whieh  none  could  untie,  by  a  stroke  of  his  swor  I, 

*  A  religious  house  outside  Oxford. 


n8      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY 

and  from  every  borough  two  burgesses  :  all  of  them  of  the 
more  discreet  and  wiser  sort;  and  to  cause  them  to  come 
before  the  King  in  this  Parliament  at  the  before  mentioned 
day  and  place,  with  full  powers  from  their  respective  com- 
munities to  perform  and  consent  to  such  matters  as  by 
common  counsel  shall  then  and  there  be  ordained  ;  and 
this  you  will  in  nowise  omit,  as  you  will  answer  at  your 
peril." 

A  momentary  pause  ensued.  The  main  body  of  the 
suitors  retreated  from  the  high  sheriff,  as  though  he  had 
been  a  centre  of  repulsion.  After  a  short  but  vehement 
conversation  amongst  themselves,  one  of  the  bettermost  sort 
of  yeomen,  a  gentleman  farmer,  if  we  may  use  the  modern 
term,  stepped  forward  and  addressed  Sir  Giles  :  "  Your 
worship  well  knows  that  we,  poor  commons,  are  not  bound 
to  proceed  to  the  election.  You  have  no  right  to  call  upon 
us  to  interfere.  So  many  of  the  earls  and  barons  of  the 
shire,  the  great  men,  who  ought  to  take  the  main  trouble, 
burthen,  and  business  of  the  choice  of  the  knights  upon 
themselves,  are  absent  now  in  the  King's  service,  that  we 
neither  can  nor  dare  proceed  to  nominate  those  who  are  to 
represent  the  county.  Such  slender  folk  as  we  have  no 
concern  with  these  weighty  matters.  How  can  we  tell  who 
are  best  qualified  to  serve  ?  " 

"  What  of  that,  John  Trafford,"  said  the  sheriff;  "  do  you 
think  that  his  grace  will  allow  his  affairs  to  be  delayed  by 
excuses  such  as  these  ?  You  suitors  of  the  shire  are  as 
much  bound  and  obliged  to  concur  in  the  choice  of  the 
county  members  as  any  baron  of  the  realm.  Do  your  duty  ; 
I  command  you  in  the  King's  name."  John  Trafford  had 
no  help.  Like  a  wise  debater,  he  yielded  to  the  pinch  of 
the  argument  without  confessing  that  he  felt  it :  and  hav- 
ing muttered  a  few  v/ords  to  the  sheriff,  which  might  be 
considered    as    an  assent,  a   long   conference  took    place 


AN  EARLY  ELECTION  TO  PARLIAMENT.  tig 

between  him  and  some  of  his  brother  stewards,  as  well  as 
with  the  other  suitors.  During  this  confabulation  several 
nods  and  winks  of  intelligence  passed  between  Trafford  and 

a  well-mounted  knight  ;  and  whilst  the  former  appeared  to 
be  settling  the  business  with  the  suitors,  the  latter,  who  had 
been  close  to  Sir  Giles,  continued  gradually  backing  and 
sidling  away  through  the  groups  of  shiresmen,  and  just  as  he 
had  got  clear  out  of  the  ring,  John  Trafford  declared,  in  a 
most  sonorous  voice,  that  the  suitors  had  chosen  Sir  Richard 
de  Pogeys  as  one  of  their  representatives. 

The  sheriff,  who,  keeping  his  eye  fixed  upon  Sir  Richard 
as  he  receded,  had  evidently  suspected  some  manoeuvre, 
instantly  ordered  his  bailiffs  to  secure  the  body  of  the  mem- 
ber,   "and,"    continued    he    with  much    vehemence,    "Sir 
Richard  must  be  forthwith  committed  to  custody,  unless  he 
gives  good  bail — two  substantial  freeholders — that  he  will 
duly  attend  in  his  place  amongst  the  commons  on  the  first 
day  of  the  session,  according  to  the  law  and  usage  of  Parlia- 
ment."    All  this  however  was  more  easily  said  than  done. 
Before  the  verbal   precept  had  proceeded  from  the  lips  of 
the    sheriff   Sir  Richard  was  galloping  away  at  full  speed 
across  the  fields.     Off  dashed  the  bailiffs  after  the  member 
amidst  the  shouts  of  the  surrounding  crowd,  who  forgot  all 
their  grievances  in  the  stimulus  of  the  chase,  which  they 
contemplated  with  the  perfect  certainty  of  receiving  some 
satisfaction  by  its  termination  ;   whether  by  the  escape  of 
the  fugitive,  in  which  case  their  common  enemy,  the  sheriff, 
would  be  liable  to  a  heavy  amercement  ;15  or  by  the  capture 
of  the  knight,  a  result  which  would  give  them  almost  equal 
delight,  by  imposing  a  disagreeable  and  irksome  duty4ipon 
an  individual  who  was  universally  disliked,  in  consequence 
of  his  overbearing  harshness  and  domestic  tyranny.     One  of 
the  two  above-mentioned  gratifications  might  be  considered 

n  Fine 

6* 


120     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

as  certain.  But  besides  these,  there  was  a  third  contingent 
amusement,  by  no  means  to  be  overlooked,  namely,  the 
chance  that  in  the  contest  those  respectable  and  intelligent 
functionaries,  the  sheriff's  bailirls,  might  somehow  or  an- 
other come  to  some  kind  of  harm.  In  this  charitable 
expectation  the  good  men  of  the  shire  were  not  entirely 
disappointed.  Bounding  along  the  open  fields,  whilst  the 
welkin  resounded  with  the  cheers  of  the  spectators,  the  fleet 
courser  of  Sir  Richard  sliddered  on  the  grass,  then  stumbled 
and  fell  down  the  sloping  side  of  one  of  the  many  ancient 
British  entrenchments  by  which  the  plain  was  crossed  ;  and 
horse  and  rider  rolling  over,  the  latter  deposited  quite  at  the 
bottom  of  the  foss,  unhurt,  but  much  discomposed. 

Horse  and  rider  were  immediately  on  their  respective 
legs  again :  the  horse  shook  himself,  snorted,  and  was  quite 
ready  to  start;  but  Sir  Richard  had  to  regird  his  sword,  and 
before  he  could  remount  the  bailiffs  were  close  at  him  ; 
Dick-o'-the-Gyves  attempted  to  trip  him  up,  John  Catch- 
pole  seized  him  by  the  collar  of  his  pourpoint.10  A  scuffle 
ensued,  during  which  the  nags  of  the  bailiffs  slily  took  the 
opportunity  of  emancipating  themselves  from  control.  Dis- 
tinctly seen  from  the  Moot-hill,  the  strife  began  and  ended 
in  a  moment ;  in  what  manner  it  had  ended  was  declared 
without  any  further  explanation,  when  the  officers  rejoined 
the  assembly,  by  Dick's  limping  gait  and  the  closed  eye  of 
his  companion.  In  the  meanwhile  Sir  Richard  had  wholly 
disappeared  ;  and  the  special  return  made  by  the  sheriff  to 
the  writ,  which  I  translate  from  the  original,  will  best  eluci- 
date the  bearing  of  the  transaction.  "  Sir  Richard  de  Pogeys, 
knight,  duly  elected  by  the  shire,  refused  to  find  bail  for  his 
appearance  in  Parliament  at  the  day  and  place  within  men- 
tioned, and  having  grievously  assaulted  my  bailiffs  in  con- 
tempt of  the  King,  his  crown  and  dignity,  and  absconded 
16  Overcoat  or  doublet. 


I.'.;  i  I  LSIOM   OF  JEWS.  "I 

to  the  Chiltem  Hundreds,17  into  which  liberty,  not  being 
shin-  land  or  guildable,  I  cannot  enter,  I  am  unable  to  make 
any  other  execution  of  the  writ  as  far  as  lie  is  concerni  d. 
At  the  present  day  a  nominal  stewardship  connected  with 
the  Chiltem  Hundreds,  called  an  office  of  profit  under  the 
Crown,  enables  the  member,  by  a  species  of  juggle,  to  resign 
his  seat.  But  it  is  not  generally  known  that  this  ancient 
domain,  which  now  affords  the  means  of  retreating  out  of 
the  House  of  Commons,  was  in  the  fourteenth  century  em- 
ployed as  a  sanctuary,  in  which  the  knight  of  the  shire  took 
refuge  in  order  to  avoid  being  dragged  into  Parliament 
against  his  will.  Being  a  distinct  jurisdiction,  in  which 
the  sheriff  had  no  control,  and  where  he  could  not  capture 
the  county  member,  it  enabled  the  recusant  to  baffle  the 
process,  at  least  until  the  short  session  had  closed. 


XXIV. 
EXPULSION  OF  JP2WS. 
GREEN. 

[One  of  the  first  results  of  the  meeting  of  the  Parliament 
was  the  driving  of  the  Jews  from  the  realm.  They  had 
been  protected  by  the  kings  as  valuable  subjects,  who  paid 
for  protection  with  constant  gifts.  But  they  were  hated 
by  the  people,  partly  through  their  extortion,  and  partly 
through  religious  fanaticism ;  and  now  that  England 
itself  was  ready  to  fill  the  King's  treasury  through  grants 
in  Parliament,  the  King  had  no  longer  any  cause  for 
protecting  them.] 

Jewish  traders  had  followed  William  the  Conqueror  from 
Normandy,  and   had  been  enabled    by  his    protection    to 

17  The  district  of  the  Chiltems,  or  line  of  chalk-trills  to  the 
cast  of  Buckinghamshire. 


122      PKOSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

establish  themselves  in  separate  quarters  or  "Jewries"  u: 
all  larger  English  towns.  The  Jew  had  no  right  or 
citizenship  in  the  land.  The  Jewry  in  which  he  lived 
was  exempt  from  the  common  law.  He  was  simply  the 
King's  chattel,1  and  his  life  and  goods  were  at  the  King's 
mercy.  But  he  was  too  valuable  a  possession  to  be 
lightly  thrown  away.  If  the  Jewish  merchant  had  no 
standing-ground  in  the  local  court  the  king  enabled  him 
to  sue  before  a  special  justiciar;  his  bonds2  were  de- 
posited for  safety  in  a  chamber  of  the  royal  palace  at 
Westminster;  he  was  protected  against  the  popular  hatred 
in  the  free  exercise  of  his  religion  and  allowed  to  build 
synagogues  and  to  manage  his  own  ecclesiastical  affairs 
by  means  of  a  chief  rabbi.  The  royal  protection  was 
dictated  by  no  spirit  of  tolerance  or  mercy.  To  the 
kings  the  Jew  was  a  mere  engine  of  finance.  The  wealth 
which  he  accumulated  was  wrung  from  him  whenever  the 
crown  had  need,  and  torture  and  imprisonment,  were  re- 
sorted to  when  milder  means  failed.  It  was  the  gold  of 
the  Jew  that  filled  the  royal  treasury  at  the  outbreak  of 
war  or  of  revolt.  It  was  in  the  Hebrew  coffers  that  the 
foreign  kings  found  strength  to  hold  their  baronage  at 
bay. 

That  the  presence  of  the  Jew  was,  at  least  in  the  earlier 
years  of  his  settlement,  beneficial  to  the  nation  at  large, 
there  can  be  little  doubt.  His  arrival  was  the  arrival  of 
a  capitalist ;  and,  heavy  as  was  the  usury  he  necessarily 
exacted,  in  the  general  insecurity  of  the  time  his  loans 
gave  an  impulse  to  industry.  The  century  which  followed 
the  Conquest  witnessed  an  outburst  of  architectural  energy 
which  covered  the  land  with  castles  and  cathedrals ;  but 
castle  and  cathedral  alike  owed  their  erection  to  the 
loans  of  the  Jew.  His  own  example  gave  a  new  vigour 
1  Personal  properly.  '2  For  loans. 


EXPULSION  OF  JEWS.  123 

to  domestic  architecture.  The  buildings  which,  as  at 
Lincoln  and  Bury  St.  Edmund's,  still  retain  their  name  of 
"Jews'  Houses"  were  almost  the  first  houses  of  stone 
which  superseded  the  mere  hovels  of  the  English  burghers. 
Nor  was  their  influence  simply  industrial.  Through  their 
connexion  with  the  Jewish  schools  in  Spain  and  the  East 
they  opened  a  way  for  the  revival  of  physical  sciences. 
A  Jewish  medical  school  seems  to  have  existed  at  Oxford  ; 
Roger  Bacon  himself  studied  under  English  rabbis.  But 
the  general  progress  of  civilization  now  drew  little  help 
from  the  ]ew,  while  the  coming  of  the  Cahorsine  and 
Italian  bankers 3  drove  him  from  the  field  of  commercial 
finance.  He  fell  back  on  the  petty  usury  of  loans  to  the 
poor,  a  trade  necessarily  accompanied  with  much  of  ex- 
tortion, and  which  roused  into  fiercer  life  the  religious 
hatred  against  their  race.  Wild  stories  floated  about  of 
children  carried  off  to  be  circumcised  or  crucified,  and  a 
Lincoln  boy  who  was  found  slain  in  a  Jewish  house  was 
canonized  by  popular  reverence  as  "St.  Hugh."  The 
first  work  of  the  Friars  was  to  settle  in  the  Jewish  quarters 
and  attempt  their  conversion,  but  the  popular  fury  rose  too 
fast  for  these  gentler  means  of  reconciliation.  When  the 
Franciscans  saved  seventy  Jews  from  hanging  by  their 
prayer  to  Henry  the  Third  the  populace  angrily  refused 
the  brethren  alms. 

But  all  this  growing  hate  was  met  with  a  bold  defiance. 
The  picture  which  is  commonly  drawn  of  the  Jew  as  timid, 
silent,  crouching  under  oppression,  however  truly  it  may 
represent  the  general  position  of  his  race  throughout 
mediaeval  Europe,  is  far  from  being  borne  out  by  historical 
fact  on  this  side  the  Channel.  In  England  the  attitude  of 
the  Jew,  almost  to  the  very  end,  was  an  attitude  of  proud 

3  Cahors  in  Southern  France,  and  Lucca  an  i  Florence  in 
ff.i  1 .  were  the  great  pan  king  towns  of  tin-  time. 


I24     TROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

and  even  insolent  defiance.     He  knew  that    the  royal  policy 
exempted    him   from  the  common    taxation,    the  common 
justice,  the  common  obligations  of  Englishmen.     Usurer, 
extortioner  as  the  realm  held  him  to  be,  the  royal  justice 
would  secure  him  the  repayment  of  his  bonds.     A  royal 
commission  visited  with  heavy  penalties  any  outbreak  of 
violence  against  the  King's  "chattels."     The  Red  King4 
actually  forbade  the  conversion  of  a  Jew  to  the  Christian 
faith  ;  it  was  a  poor  exchange,  he  said,  that  would  rid  him 
of  a  valuable  property  and  give  him  only  a  subject.     We 
see   in   such  a  case  as  that  of  Oxford  the  insolence  that 
grew   out   of  this    consciousness    of  the    royal    protection. 
Here  as  elsewhere  the  Jewry  was  a  town  within  a  town, 
with  its  own  language,  its  own  religion  and  law,  its  peculiar 
commerce,  its  peculiar  dress.  No  city  bailiff  could  penetrate 
into  the  square  of  little  alleys  which  lay  behind  the  present 
Town  Hall ;  the  Church  itself  was   powerless  to  prevent  a 
synagogue  from  rising  in  haughty  rivalry  over  against  the 
cloister  of  St.   Frideswide.     Prior  Philip  of  St.  Frideswide 
complains  bitterly  of  a  certain   Hebrew  who  stood  at  his 
door  as  the  procession  of  the  saint  passed  by,  mocking  at 
the  miracles  which  were  said  to  be  wrought  at  her  shrine. 
Halting  and   then  walking  firmly  on  his   feet,   showing  his 
hands  clenched  as  if  with  palsy  and  then  flinging  open  his 
fingers,  the  Jew  claimed  gifts  and  oblations  from  the  crowd 
that  flocked  to  St.   Frideswide's  shrine  on  the  ground  that 
such  recoveries  of  life  and  limb  were  quite  as  real  as  any 
that   Frideswide  ever  wrought.     Sickness  and  death  in  the 
prior's  story  avenge  the  saint  on  her  blasphemer,   but  no 
earthly  power,  ecclesiastical  or  civil,  seems  to  have  ventured 
to  deal  with  him.     A  more  daring  act  of  fanaticism  showed 
the  temper  of  the  Jews  even  at  the  close  of  Henry  the 
Third's  reign.     As  the   usual   procession   of  scholars    and 

4   William  Rufus. 


EXPULSION  OF  JEWS.  12s 

Citizens   returned    from   St.    Frideswide's  on  the    Ascension 
Da)  of  1268  u  Jew  suddenly  burst  from  a  group  of  his  com- 
i        s  in  front  of  the  synagogue,  and  wrenching  the  crucifix 
from  its  bearer  trod  it  under  foot.  But  even  in  presence  of  such 
outrage  as  this  the  terror  of  the  Crown  sheltered  the  Oxford 
Jews  from  any  burst  of  popular  vengeance.     The  sentence 
of  the  King  condemned  them  to  set  up  a  cross  of  marble 
on  the  spot  where  the  crime  was  committed,  but  even  this 
sentence  was  in  part  remitted,  and  a  less  offensive  place 
was  found  for  the  cross  in  an  open  plot  by  Merton  College. 
Up  to  Edward's  day  indeed   the   royal   protection    had 
never  wavered.       Henry  the  Second  granted   the  Jews  a 
right  of  burial  outside  every  city  where  they  dwelt.   Richard 
punished  heavily  a   massacre   of  the   Jews   at   York,   and 
organized  a  mixed  court  of  Jews   and   Christians  for   the 
registration    of   their   contracts.      John    suffered   none    to 
plunder  them   save  himself,  though  he  once  wrested  from 
them  a  sum  equal  to  a  year's  revenue  of  his  realm.     The 
troubles  of  the  next  reign  brought  in  a  harvest  greater  than 
even   the  royal  greed  could  reap ;  the  Jews  grew  wealthy 
enough  to  acquire   estates ;    and  only   a  burst  of  popular 
feeling  prevented  a  legal  decision  which  would  have  enabled 
them  to  own  freeholds.     But  the  sack  of  Jewry  after  Jewry 
showed  the  popular  hatred  during  the  Barons'  war,  and  at 
its  close  fell  on  the  Jews  the  more  terrible  persecution  of 
the  law.     To  the  cry  against  usury  and  the  religious  fanati- 
cism which   threatened  them  was  now  added   the  jealousy 
with  which  the  nation  that  had  grown  up  round  the  Charter 
regarded  all   exceptional  jurisdictions   or  exemptions  from 
the  common  law  and  the  common  burthens  of  the  realm. 
As  Edward  looked  on  the  privileges  of  the  Church  or  the 
baronage,  so  his  people   looked   on    the   privileges   of  the 
Jews.     The  growing  weight  of  the  Parliament  told  against 
them.     Statute  after  statute  hemmed  them  in.     They  weru 


r26      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

forbidden  to  hold  real  property,  to  employ  Christian  servants. 
to  move  through  the  streets  without  the  two  white  tablets  of 
wool  on  their  breasts  which  distinguished  their  race.  They 
were  prohibited  from  building  new  synagogues  or  eating 
with  Christians  or  acting  as  physicians  to  them.  Their 
trade,  already  crippled  by  the  rivalry  of  the  bankers  of 
Cahors,  was  annihilated  by  a  royal  order  which  bade  them 
renounce  usury  under  pain  of  death.  At  last  persecution 
could  do  no  more,  and  Edward,  eager  at  the  moment  to 
find  supplies  for  his  treasury,  and  himself  swayed  by  the 
fanaticism  of  his  subjects,  bought  the  grant  of  a  fifteenth 
from  clergy  and  laity  by  consenting  to  drive  the  Jews  from 
his  realm.  No  share  of  the  enormities  which  accompanied 
this  expulsion  can  fall  upon  the  King,  for  he  not  only 
suffered  the  fugitives  to  take  their  personal  wealth  with  them 
but  punished  with  the  halter  those  who  plundered  them  at 
sea.  But  the  expulsion  was  none  the  less  cruel.  Of  the  sixteen 
thousand  who  preferred  exile  to  apostasy  few  reached  the 
shores  of  France.  Many  were  wrecked,  others  robbed  and 
thrown  overboard.  One  ship-master  turned  out  a  crew  of 
wealthy  merchants  on  to  a  sandbank  and  bade  them  call 
a  new  Moses  to  save  them  from  the  sea. 


XXV. 

WANDERINGS  OF  THE  BRUCE. 

SCOTT. 

[While  thus  ruling  within  his  realm,  Edward  aimed  in  his 
work  without  it  at  the  union  under  one  government  of  the 
different  kingdoms  which  parted  Britain  between  them. 
In  the  early  years  of  his  reign   he  succeeded  in  conquer 


WANDERINC.S  OF  THE  BRUCE.  127 

ing  Wales  and  uniting  it  to  the  English  Crown.     In  his 

later  years  Edward  was  drawn  in  like  fashion  to  attempt 
the  union  of  Scotland  with  England.  There  was  a  con- 
test among  the  Scotch  lords  for  the  Crown  of  the  country, 
and  as  all  appealed  to  Edward  he  gave  it  to  John  Balliol, 
but  on  terms  that  made  him  a  vassal  of  England.  Balliol 
soon  revolted  against  this,  and  Edward  drove  him  from 
his  realm  and  conquered  Scotland.  But  the  Scottish 
people  were  as  stout-hearted  and  fond  of  freedom  as  the 
English  themselves  ;  and  they  soon  rose  under  William 
Wallace,  drove  out  the  English,  and  invaded  England  in 
turn.  Edward  however  won  a  great  victory  over  Wallace 
at  Stirling,  and  again  subdued  the  land.  Wallace  was 
betrayed  into  his  hands  and  put  to  death,  and  for  a  while 
all  seemed  quiet.  But  in  Edward's  last  years  Robert  Bruce, 
a  baron  both  of  England  and  Scotland,  claimed  the  Scotch 
Crown  and  stirred  up  fresh  resistance.  Edward  himself 
died  as  he  marched  against  him,  but  his  troops  defeated 
Bruce,  and  he  was  driven  to  wander  over  the  land,  pur- 
sued by  the  English  and  those  Scots  who  supported  them.] 

About  the  time  when  the  Bruce  was  yet  at  the  head  of 
but  few  men,  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  who  was  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke,1 together  with  John  of  Lorn,2  came  into  Galloway,*1 
each  of  them  being  at  the  head  of  a  large  body  of  men. 
John  of  Lorn  had  a  bloodhound  with  him,  which  it  was 
said  had  formerly  belonged  to  Robert  Bruce  himself ;  and 
having  been  fed  by  the  King  with  his  own  hands,  it  became 
attached  to  him,  and  would  follow  his  footsteps  anywhere, 
as  dogs  are  well  known  to  trace  their  master's  steps,  whether 
they  be  bloodhounds  or  not.  By  means  of  this  hound, 
John  of  Lorn  thought  he  should  certainly  find  out  Bruce, 
and  take  revenge  on  him  for  the  death  of  his  relation 
Comyn.4 

1  And  English  regent  in  Scotland.  -  The  chieftain  of 

what  is  now  Argyleshire.         A  South-western  Scotland)  where 
Bruce  was  lurking.  '  JoJui  Comyn,  another  claimant  of  tit. 

Scottish  Crown,  whom  Bruce  had  stabbed  in  a  church. 


123     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

When  these  two  armies  advanced  upon  King  Robert,  fie 
at  first  thought  of  fighting  with  the  English  Earl ;  but 
becoming  aware  that  John  of  Lorn  was  moving  round  with 
another  large  body  to  attack  him  in  the  rear,  he  resolved  to 
avoid  fighting  at  that  time,  lest  he  should  be  oppressed  by 
numbers.  For  this  purpose,  the  King  divided  the  men  he 
had  with  him  into  three  bodies,  and  commanded  them  to 
retreat  by  three  different  ways,  thinking  the  enemy  would 
not  know  which  party  to  pursue.  He  also  appointed  a 
place  at  which  they  were  to  assemble  again.  But  when 
John  of  Lorn  came  to  the  place  where  the  army  of  Bruce 
had  been  thus  divided,  the  bloodhound  took  his  course 
after  one  of  these  divisions,  neglecting  the  other  two,  and 
then  John  of  Lorn  knew  that  the  King  must  be  in  that 
party ;  so  he  also  made  no  pursuit  after  the  two  other 
divisions  of  the  Scots,  but  followed  that  which  the  dog 
pointed  out,  with  all  his  men. 

The  King  again  saw  that  he  was  followed  by  a  large 
body,  and  being  determined  to  escape  from  them,  if  pos- 
sible, he  made  all  the  people  who  were  with  him  disperse 
themselves  different  ways,  thinking  thus  that  the  enemy 
must  needs  lose  trace  of  him.  He  kept  only  one  man 
along  with  him,  and  that  was  his  own  foster-brother,. or  the 
son  of  his  nurse.  When  John  of  Lorn  came  to  the  place 
where  Bruce's  companions  had  dispersed  themselves,  the 
bloodhound,  after  it  had  snuffed  up  and  down  for  a  little, 
quitted  the  footsteps  of  all  the  other  fugitives,  and  ran 
barking  upon  the  track  of  two  men  out  of  the  whole 
number.  Then  John  of  Lorn  knew  that  one  of  these  two 
must  needs  be  King  Robert.  Accordingly,  he  commanded 
five  of  his  men  that  were  speedy  of  foot  to  chase  after  him, 
and  either  make  him  prisoner,  or  slay  him.  The  High- 
landers started  off  accordingly,  and  ran  so  fast,  that  they 
gained  sight  of  Robert  and  his  foster-brother.     The  King 


WANDERINGS  OF  THE  UKUCE. 


\2<) 


asked  his  companion  whal  help  he  could  give  him,  and  his 
foster-brother  answered  he  was  ready  to  do  his  best.     So 

these  two  turned  on  the  five  men  of  John  of  Lorn,  and 
killed  them  all.  It  is  to  be  supposed  they  were  better 
armed  than  the  others  were,  as  well  as  stronger  and  more 
desperate. 

But  by  this  time  Bruce  was  very  much  fatigued,  and  yet 
they  dared  not  sit  down  to  take  any  rest ;  for  whenever 
they  stopped  for  an  instant,  they  heard  the  cry  of  the 
blood-hound  behind  them,  and  knew  by  that,  that  their 
enemies  were  coming  up  fast  after  them.  At  length,  they 
came  to  a  wood,  through  which  ran  a  small  river.  Then 
Bruce  said  to  his  foster-brother,  "  Let  us  wade  down  this 
stream  for  a  great  way,  instead  of  going  straight  across,  and 
so  this  unhappy  hound  will  lose  the  scent ;  for  if  we  were 
once  clear  of  him,  I  should  not  be  afraid  of  getting  away 
from  the  pursuers."  Accordingly  the  King  and  his  attendant 
walked  a  great  way  down  the  stream,  taking  care  to  keep 
their  feet  in  the  water,  which  could  not  retain  any  scent 
where  they  had  stepped.  Then  they  came  ashore  on  the 
further  side  from  the  enemy,  and  went  deep  into  the  wood 
before  they  stopped  to  rest  themselves.  In  the  meanwhile, 
the  hound  led  John  of  Lorn  straight  to  the  place  where  the 
King  went  into  the  water,  but  there  the  dog  began  to  be 
puzzled,  not  knowing  where  to  go  next ;  for  you  are  well 
aware  that  the  running  water  could  not  retain  the  scent  of 
a  man's  foot,  like  that  which  remains  on  turf.  So  John 
of  Lorn  seeing  the  dog  was  at  fault,  as  it  is  called,  that 
is,  had  lost  the  track  of  that  which  he  pursued,  gave 
up  the  chase,  and  returned  to  join  with  Aymer  de 
Valence. 

But  King  Robert's  adventures  were  not  yet  ended.  His 
foster-brother  and  he  had  rested  themselves  in  the  wood, 
but  they  had  got  no   food,  and    were   become  extremely 


I3o      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

hungry.  They  walked  on  however,  in  hopes  of  coming  to 
some  habitation.  At  length,  in  the  midst  of  the  forest,  they 
met  with  three  men  who  looked  like  thieves  or  ruffians 
They  were  well  armed,  and  one  of  them  bore  a  sheep  on 
his  back,  which  it  seemed  as  if  they  had  just  stolen.  They 
saluted  the  King  civilly ;  and  he,  replying  to  their  saluta- 
tion, asked  them  where  they  were  going.  The  men 
answered,  they  were  seeking  for  Robert  Bruce,  for  that 
they  intended  to  join  with  him.  The  King  answered,  that 
if  they  would  go  with  him,  he  would  conduct  them  where 
they  would  find  the  Scottish  King.  Then  the  man  who  had 
spoken,  changed  countenance,  and  Bruce,  who  looked 
sharply  at  him,  began  to  suspect  that  the  ruffian  guessed 
who  he  was,  and  that  he  and  his  companions  had  some 
design  against  his  person  in  order  to  gain  the  reward  which 
had  been  offered  for  his  life.  So  he  said  to  them,  "  My 
good  friends,  as  we  are  not  well  acquainted  with  each  other, 
you  must  go  before  us,  and  we  will  follow  near  to  you." 

"  You  have  no  occasion  to  suspect  any  harm  from  us," 
answered  the  man. 

"  Neither  do  I  suspect  any,"  said  Bruce  ;  "  but  this  is  the 
way  in  which  I  choose  to  travel." 

The  men  did  as  he  commanded,  and  thus  they  travelled 
till  they  came  together  to  a  waste  and  ruinous  cottage, 
where  the  men  proposed  to  dress  some  part  of  the  sheep 
which  their  companion  was  carrying.  The  King  was  glad 
to  hear  of  food ;  but  he  insisted  that  there  should  be  two 
fires  kindled,  one  for  himself  and  his  foster-brother  at  one 
end  of  the  house,  the  other  at  the  other  end  for  their  three 
companions.  The  men  did  as  he  desired.  They  broiled  a 
quarter  of  mutton  for  themselves,  and  gave  another  to  the 
King  and  his  attendant.  They  were  obliged  to  eat  it  with- 
out bread  or  salt ;  but  as  they  were  very  hungry,  they  were 
glad  to  get  food  in  any  shape,  and  partook  of  it  veiy 
heartily. 


WANDERINGS  OF  THE  BRUCE.  131 

Then  so  heavy  a  drowsiness  fell  on  King  Robert,  that, 

for  all  the  danger  he  was  in,  he  could  not  resist  an  inclina- 
tion to  sleep.  But  first,  he  desired  his  foster-brother  to 
watch  while  he  slept,  for  he  had  great  suspicion  of  their 
new  acquaintances.  His  foster-brother  promised  to  keep 
awake,  and  did  his  best  to  keep  his  word.  But  the  King 
had  not  been  long  asleep  ere  his  foster-brother  fell  into  a 
deep  slumber  also,  for  he  had  undergone  as  much  fatigue 
as  the  King.  When  the  three  villains  saw  the  King  and 
his  attendant  asleep,  they  made  signs  to  each  other,  and 
rising  up  at  once,  drew  their  swords  with  the  purpose  to 
kill  them  both.  But  the  King  slept  but  lightly,  and  for  as 
little  noise  as  the  traitors  made  in  rising,  he  was  awakened 
by  it,  and  starting  up,  drew  his  sword,  and  went  to  meet 
them.  At  the  same  moment  he  pushed  his  foster-brother 
with  his  foot,  to  awaken  him,  and  he  got  on  his  feet;  but 
ere  he  got  his  eyes  cleared  to  see  what  was  about  to  happen, 
one  of  the  ruffians  that  were  advancing  to  slay  the  King, 
killed  him  with  a  stroke  of  his  sword.  The  King  was  now 
alone,  one  man  against  three,  and  in  the  greatest  danger  of 
his  life  ;  but  his  amazing  strength,  and  the  good  armour 
which  he  wore,  freed  him  once  more  from  this  great  peril, 
and  he  killed  the  three  men,  one  after  another. 

He  then  left  the  cottage,  very  sorrowful  for  the  death  of 
his  faithful  foster-brother,  and  took  his  direction  towards 
the  place  where  he  had  appointed  his  men  to  assemble 
after  their  dispersion.  It  was  now  near  night,  and  the  place 
of  meeting  being  a  farm-house,  he  went  boldly  into  it,  where 
he  found  the  mistress,  an  old  true-hearted  Scotswoman, 
sitting  alone.  Upon  seeing  a  stranger  enter,  she  asked  him 
who  and  what  he  was.  The  King  answered  that  he  was 
a  traveller,  who  was  journeying  through  the  country. 

"  All  travellers,"  answered  the  good  woman,  "are  welcome 
here,  for  the  sake  of  one." 


132      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

"  And  who  is  that  one,"  said  the  King,  "  for  whose  sake 
you  make  all  travellers  welcome  ?  " 

"  It  is  our  rightful  king,  Robert  the  Bruce,"  answered  the 
mistress,  "  who  is  the  lawful  lord  of  this  country ;  and 
although  he  is  .  now  pursued  and  hunted  after  with 
hounds  and  horns,  I  hope  to  live  to  see  him  King  over 
all  Scotland." 

"  Since  you  love  him  so  well,  dame,"  said  the  King, 
"  know  that  you  see  him  before  you.  I  am  Robert  th  ° 
Bruce." 


XXVI. 

BANNOCKBURN. 

SCOTT. 

[After  years  of  this  wandering  life  the  Scots  gathered  again 
round  Bruce,  and  little  by  little  he  won  back  the  land 
from  the  English  till  only  Stirling  was  left  in  their  hands. 
Edward  the  Second,  a  weak  and  bad  king,  resolved  to 
save  this  castle  ;  and  led  a  great  army  to  its  relief.  Bruce 
met  it  at  Bannockburn,  on  the  plain  in  front  of  Stirling, 
and  his  victory  established  Scottish  freedom.] 

Bruce  studied  how  he  might  supply,  by  address  and 
stratagem,  what  he  wanted  in  numbers  and  strength.  He 
knew  the  superiority  of  the  English  both  in  their  heavy- 
armed  cavalry,  which  were  much  better  mounted  and 
armed  than  that  of  the  Scots,  and  in  their  archers,  who 
were  better  trained  than  any  others  in  the  world.  Both  these 
advantages  he  resolved  to  provide  against.  With  this  pur- 
pose, he  led  his  army  down  into  a  plain  near  Stirling,  called 
the  Park,  near  which,  and  beneath  it,  the  English  army 
must  needs  pass    through    a   boggy  country,   broken   with 


BANNOCKBURN.  *33 

watercourses,  while  the  Scots  occupied  hard  dry  ground. 
1  le  then  caused  all  the  ground  upon  the  front  of  his  line  of 
battle,  where  cavalry  were  likely  to  act,  to  be  dug  full  of 
holes,  about  as  deep  as  a  man's  knee.  They  were  filled 
with  light  brushwood,  and  the  turf  was  laid  on  the  top,  so 
that  it  appeared  a  plain  field,  while  in  reality  it  was  as  full 
of  these  pits  as  a  honeycomb  is  of  holes.  He  also,  it  is 
said,  caused  steel  spikes,  called  calthrops,  to  be  scattered  up 
and  down  in  the  plain,  where  the  English  cavalry  were  most 
likely  to  advance,  trusting  in  that  manner  to  lame  and 
destroy  their  horses. 

When  the  Scottish  army  was  drawn  up,  the  line  stretched 
north  and  soutti.  On  the  south,  it  was  terminated  by  the 
banks  of  the  brook  called  Bannockburn,  which  are  so  rocky 
that  no  troops  could  attack  them  there.  On  the  left,  the 
Scottish  line  extended  near  to  the  town  of  Stirling.  Bruce 
reviewed  his  troops  very  carefully  ;  all  the  useless  servants, 
drivers  of  carts,  and  such  like,  of  whom  there  were  very 
many,  he  ordered  to  go  behind  a  height,  afterwards,  in 
memory  of  the  event,  called  the  Gillies'  hill,  that  is,  the 
Servants'  hill.  He  then  spoke  to  the  soldiers,  and  expressed 
his  determination  to  gain  the  victory,  or  to  lose  his  life  on 
the  field  of  battle.  He  desired  that  all  those  who  did  not 
propose  to  fight  to  the  last  should  leave  the  field  before 
the  battle  began,  and  that  none  should  remain  except  those 
who  were  determined  to  take  the  issue  of  victory  or  death, 
as  God  should  send  it. 

When  the  main  body  of  his  army  was  thus  placed  in 
order,  the  King  posted  Randolph,1  with  a  body  of  horse, 
near  to  the  church  of  St.  Ninian's,  commanding  him  to  use 
the  utmost  diligence  to  prevent  any  succours  from  being 
thrown  into  Stirling  castle.     He  then  despatched  James  of 

1  His  nephew  Earl  of  Moray. 


134      TROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Douglas,2  and  Sir  Robert  Keith,  the  Mareschal  of  the 
Scottish  army,  in  order  that  they  might  survey,  as  nearly  as 
they  could,  the  English  force,  which  was  now  approaching 
from  Falkirk.  They  returned  with  information,  that  the 
approach  of  that  vast  host  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
and  terribie  sights  which  could  be  seen, — that  the  whole 
country  seemed  covered  with  men-at-arms  on  horse  and 
foot, — that  the  number  of  standards,  banners,  and  pennons 
(all  flags  of  different  kinds),  made  so  gallant  a  show,  that  the 
bravest  and  most  numerous  host  in  Christendom  might  be 
alarmed  to  see  King  Edward  moving  against  them. 

It  was  upon  the  23rd  of  June  (1314)  the  King  of 
Scotland  heard  the  news  that  the  English  army  were 
approaching  Stirling.  He  drew  out  his  army,  therefore,  in 
the  order  which  had  been  resolved  on.  After  a  short  time, 
Bruce,  who  was  looking  out  anxiously  for  the  enemy,  saw  a 
body  of  English  cavalry  trying  to  get  into  Stirling  from  the 
eastward.  This  was  the  Lord  Clifford,  who,  with  a  chosen 
body  of  eight  hundred  horse  had  been  detached  to  relieve 
the  castle.  "See,  Randolph,"  said  the  King  to  his  nephew, 
"  there  is  a  rose  fallen  from  your  chaplet."  By  this  he 
meant,  that  Randolph  had  lost  some  honour,  by  suffering 
the  enemy  to  pass  where  he  had  been  stationed  to  hinder 
them.  Randolph  made  no  reply,  but  rushed  against  Clifford 
with  little  more  than  half  his  number.  The  Scots  were 
on  foot.  The  English  turned  to  charge  them  with  their 
lances,  and  Randolph  drew  up  his  men  in  close  order  to 
receive  the  onset.  He  seemed  to  be  in  so  much  danger, 
that  Douglas  asked  leave  of  the  King  to  go  and  assist  him. 
The  King  refused  him  permission.  "  Let  Randolph,"  he 
said,  "  redeem  his  own  fault ;  I  cannot  break  the  order 
of  battle  for  his  sake."     Still  the  danger  appeared  greater, 


2  .c 


ir  James,  the  founder  of  the  great  house  of  Douglas. 


BANNOCKBURN.  135 

Bud  the  English  horse  seemed  entirely  to  encompass  the 
small  handful  of  Scottish  infantry.  "So  please  you,"  said 
Douglas  to  the  King,  "  my  heart  will  not  suffer  me  to 
stand  idle  and  see  Randolph  perish— I  must  go  to  his 
assistance."  He  rode  off  accordingly ;  but  long  before 
they  had  reached  the  place  of  combat,  they  saw  the  English 
horses  galloping  off,  many  with  empty  saddles. 

"  Halt ! "  said  Douglas  to  his  men,  "  Randolph  has 
gained  the  day ;  since  we  were  not  soon  enough  to  help 
him  in  the  battle,  do  not  let  us  lessen  his  glory  by  approach- 
ing the  field."  Now,  that  was  nobly  done;  especially  as 
Douglas  and  Randolph  were  always  contending  which 
should  rise  highest  in  the  good  opinion  of  the  King  and 
the  nation. 

The  van  of  the  English  army  now  came  in  sight,  and  a 
number  of  their  bravest  knights  drew  near  to  see  what  the 
Scots  were  doing.  They  saw  King  Robert  dressed  in  his 
armour,  and  distinguished  by  a  gold  crown,  which  he  wore 
over  his  helmet.  He  was  not  mounted  on  his  great  war- 
horse,  because  he  did  not  expect  to  fight  that  evening. 
But  he  rode  on  a  little  pony  up  and  down  the  ranks  of  his 
army,  putting  his  men  in  order,  and  carried  in  his  hand 
a  sort  of  battle-axe  made  of  steel.  When  the  King  saw 
the  English  horsemen  draw  near,  he  advanced  a  little 
before  his  own  men,  that  he  might  look  at  them  more 
nearly.  There  was  a  knight  among  the  English,  called  Sir 
Henry  de  Bohun,  who  thought  this  would  be  a  good  oppor- 
tunity to  gain  great  fame  to  himself,  and  put  an  end  to  the 
war,  by  killing  King  Robert.  The  King  being  poorly 
mounted,  and  having  no  lance,  Bohun  galloped  on  him 
suddenly  and  furiously,  thinking,  with  his  long  spear,  and  his 
tall  powerful  horse,  easily  to  bear  him  down  to  the  ground. 
King  Robert  saw  him,  and  permitted  him  to  come  very  near, 
then  suddenly  turned  his  pony  a  little  to  one  side,  so  that 
1 


i  6      PROSE  READINGS   FROM  ENGLISH   tllSTOJ 

Sir  Henry  missed  him  with  the  lance-point,  and  was  in  the 
act  of  being  carried  past  him  by  the  career  of  his  norse. 
Hut  as  he  passed,  King  Robert  rose  up  in  his  stirrups,  and 
struck  Sir  Henry  on  the  head  with  his  battle-axe  so  terrible 
a  blow,  that  it  broke  to  pieces  his  iron  helmet  as  if  it  had 
been  a  nut-shell,  and  hurled  him  from  his  saddle.  He  was 
dead  before  he  reached  the  ground.  This  gallant  action 
was  blamed  by  the  Scottish  leaders,  who  thought  Bruce 
t  not  to  have  exposed  himself  to  so  much  danger  when 
the  safety  of  the  whole  army  depended  on  him.  The  King 
only  kept  looking  at  his  weapon,  which  was  injured  by  the 
force  of  the  blow,  and  said,  "  I  have  broken  my  good 
battle-axe." 

The  next  morning,  being  the  24th  June,  at  break  of  day, 
the  battle  began  in  terrible  earnest.  The  English  as  they 
advanced  saw  the  Scots  getting  into  line.  The  Abbot  of 
I  affray  walked  through  their  ranks  barefooted,  and 
exhorted  them  to  fight  for  their  freedom.  They  kneeled 
down  as  he  passed,  and  prayed  to  Heaven  for  victory. 
King  Edward,  who  saw  this,  called  out,  "They  kneel  down 
— they  are  asking  forgiveness."  "  Yes,"  said  a  celebr 
I  .-))  baron,  called  Ingelram  de  Umphraville,  "  but  they 
ask  il  from  God,  not  from  us  — these  men  will  conquer,  or 
die  upon  the  field." 

The  English  King  ordered  his  men  to  begin  the  battle. 
The  archers  then  bent  their  bows,  and  began  to  shoot  so 
closely  together,  that  the  arrows  fell  like  flakes  of  snow  on 
a  Christmas  day.  They  killed  many  of  the  Scots,  and 
might,  as  at  Falkirk,  and  other  places,  have  decided  the 
victory;  but  Brace,  as  1  told  you  before,  was  prepared  for 
them.  He  had  in  readim  s  a  body  of  men-at-arms,  well 
mounted,  who  rode  at  full  gallop  among  the  archers,  and  as 
they  had  no  weapon  save  their  DOWS  and  arrows,  which  they 
could  not  use  when  they  were  attacked  hand   to  hand,  they 


BANNOCKBURN.  137 

were  cut  down  in  great  numbers  by  the  Scottish  horsemen, 
and  thown  into  total  confusion. 

The  fine  English  cavalry  then  advanced  to  support  their 
archers,  and  to  attack  the  Scottish  line.  But  coming  over 
the  ground  which  was  dug  full  of  pits,  the  horses  fell  into 
these  holes,  and  the  riders  lay  tumbling  about,  without  any 
means  of  defence,  and  unable  to  rise  from  the  weight 
of  their  armour.  The  Englishmen  began  to  fall  into 
general  disorder;  and  the  Scottish  King,  bringing  up 
more  of  his  forces,  attacked  and  pressed  them  still  more 
closely. 

On  a  sudden,  while  the  battle  was  obstinately  maintained 
on  both  sides,  an  event  happened  which  decided  the 
victory.  The  servants  and  attendants  on  the  Scottish  camp 
had,  as  I  told  you,  been  sent  behind  the  army  to  a  place 
afterwards  called  the  Gillies'  hill.  But  when  they  saw  that 
their  masters  were  likely  to  gain  the  day,  they  rushed  from 
their  place  of  concealment  with  such  weapons  as  they  could 
get,  that  they  might  have  their  share  in  the  victory  and  in 
the  spoil.  The  English,  seeing  them  come  suddenly  over 
the  hill,  mistook  this  disorderly  rabble  for  a  new  army 
coming  up  to  sustain  the  Scots,  and,  losing  all  heart,  began 
to  shift  every  man  for  himself.  Edward  himself  left  the 
field  as  fast  as  he  could  ride.  A  valiant  knight,  Sir  Giles 
de  Argentine,  much  renowned  in  the  wars  of  Palestine, 
attended  the  King  till  he  got  him  out  of  the  press  of  the 
combat.  But  he  would  retreat  no  farther.  "  It  is  not  my 
custom,"  he  said,  "to  fly."  With  that  he  took  leave  of  the 
King,  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  calling  out  his  war-cry  of 
Argentine  !  Argentine  !  he  rushed  into  the  thickest  of  the 
Scottish  ranks,  and  was  killed. 


133     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY 

XXVII. 
CHAUCER. 

BROOKE. 

[Bannockburn  settled  the  question  of  Scotch  independence, 
though  the  war  lingered  on  into  the  reign  of  Edward 
the  Second's  successor,  his  son,  Edward  the  Third.  The 
reign  of  this  King  is  one  of  the  most  memorable  in 
our  history.  In  spite  of  the  troubles  of  Edward  the 
Second's  time,  the  great  measures  of  Edward  the  First 
now  did  their  work  :  and  England,  secure  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a  firm  government,  of  unhindered  justice,  and 
of  a  national  Parliament,  sprang  suddenly  forward  into 
one  of  the  leading  powers  of  the  world.  It  won  its  first 
great  victories,  and  it  produced  its  first  great  singer. 
Geoffrey  Chaucer  is  the  noblest  and  most  beautiful  em- 
bodiment of  his  time.  He  was  the  son  of  a  London 
vintner,  born  in  1340,  who  in  youth  became  a, page  to 
the  wife  of  one  of  the  King's  sons,  and  made  a  short 
campaign  in  France,  when  Edward  was  at  the  height  of 
his  glory.  Chaucer's  warlike  career  was  luckless ;  he 
was  taken  prisoner,  ransomed,  and  returned  to  court  to 
write  verses  after  the  fashion  of  the  French  poetry  of  the 
tome,  and,  as  some  suppose,  to  love  as  lucklessly  as  he  had 
fought.  When  he  had  reached  thirty  however  his  powers 
began  to  show  themselves  more  nobly.  In  the  twelve 
years  from  1372  to  1384  he  went  for  the  King  on  some 
diplomatic  missions ;  and  three  of  these  were  to  Italy. 
This  was  the  turning-point  of  his  career ;  contact  with 
Italian  poetry  spurred  Chaucer  into  himself  becoming  a 
great  poet.] 

Ax  that  time  the  great  Italian  literature,  which  inspired 
then,  and  still  inspires,  European  literature,  had  reached 
full  growth,  and  it  opened  to  Chaucer  a  new  world  of  art. 
If    he  read   the    Vila  Niwva   and   the   Divina   Commedia 


CHAUCER.  139 

of  Dante,1  he  knew  for  the  first  time  the  power  and 
range  of  poetry.  He  read  the  Sonnets  of  Petrarca,  nd 
he  learnt  what  is  meant  by  "  form  "  in  poetry.  He  read 
the  tales  of  Boccaccio,  who  made  Italian  prose,2  and  in 
them  he  first  saw  how  to  tell  a  story  exquisitely.  Petrarca 
and  Boccaccio  he  may  even  have  met,  but  he  never  saw 
Dante,  who  had  died  years  before  at  Ravenna  in  1321. 
When  he  came  back  from  these  journeys  he  was  a  new 
man.  He  threw  aside  the  romantic  poetry  of  France, 
and  laughed  at  it  in  his  gay  and  kindly  manner  in  the 
Riinc  of  Sir  27/opas,  which  was  afterwards  made  one  of 
the  Canterbury  Talcs.  His  chief  work  of  this  time  bears 
witness  to  the  influence  of  Italy.  It  was  Troylits  an  I 
Crescide,  which  is  a  translation,  with  many  changes  and 
additions,  of  the  Filostrato  of  Boccaccio.  The  additions 
(and  he  nearly  doubled  the  poem)  are  stamped  with  his 
own  peculiar  tenderness,  vividness,  and  simplicity.  His 
changes  from  the  original  are  all  towards  the  side  of  purity, 
good  taste,  and  piety. 

We  meet  the  further  influence  of  Boccaccio  in  the 
birth  of  some  of  the  Canterbury  Talcs,  and  of  Petrarca 
in  the  tales  themselves.  To  this  time  is  now  referred  the 
tale  of  the  Second  Nun,  that  of  the  Doctor,  the  Mar 
of  Law,  the  Clerk,  the  Prioress,  the  Squire,  the  Franklin, 
Sir  Thopas,  and  the  first  draft  of  the  Knight's  Tale 
borrowed  with  much  freedom  from  the  Teseide  of  Boc 
caccio.  The  other  poems  of  this  period  were  the  Parla- 
ment  of  Foules?  the  Compleynt  of  Mars,  Anelida,  and  Anile, 

1  Dante  was  the  first  great  Italian  poet.  His  "  Vita  Nuova  " 
is  a  prose  account  of  his  early  life  and  love,  with  canzonets 
scattered  throughout  it.  His  " Divi?ia  Commedia"  is  a  poem 
which  tells  of  his  journeying  through  Hell,  Purgatory,  and 
Heaven.  -  Boccaccio's    collection  of  talcs  was  called  the 

"  Decameron."  ■'■  1 '/'  birds.      They  gather  and  chat  "  i 

parliament. " 


140      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Boece,  and  The  Former  Age,  the  Lines  to  Adam  Scrivener, 
and  the  Housof Fame.  In  the  passion  with  which  Chaucer 
describes  the  ruined  love  of  Troilus  and  Anelida,  some  have 
traced  the  lingering  sorrow  of  his  early  love  affair.  But  if 
this  be  true,  it  was  now  passing  away,  for  in  the  creation  of 
Pandarus  in  the  Troilus,  and  in  the  delightful  fun  of  the 
Farlamenl  of  Foules,  a  new  Chaucer  appears,  the  humorous 
poet  of  the  Canterbury  Tales.  In  the  active  business  life 
he  led  during  this  period  he  was  likely  to  grow  out  of  mere 
sentiment,  for  he  was  not  only  employed  on  service  abroad, 
but  also  at  home.  In  1374  he  was  Comptroller  of  the 
Wool  Customs,4  in  1382  of  the  Petty  Customs,  and  in 
1386  Member  of  Parliament  for  Kent. 

It  is  in  the  next  period,  from  1384  to  1390,  that 
Chaucer  left  behind  Italian  influence  as  he  had  left 
French,  and  became  entirely  himself,  entirely  English. 
The  comparative  poverty  in  which  he  now  lived,  and  the 
loss  of  his  offices,  for  in  John  of  Gaunt's  5  absence  he  lost 
Court  favour,  may  have  given  him  more  time  for  study, 
and  the  retired  life  of  a  poet.  At  least  in  the  Legende  oj 
Good  Women,  the  prologue  to  which  was  written  in  1385, 
we  find  him  a  closer  student  than  ever  of  books  and  of 
nature.  His  appointment  as  Clerk  of  the  Works  in  1389 
brought  him  again  into  contact  with  men.  He  superin- 
tended the  repairs  and  building  at  the  Palace  of  West- 
minster, the  Tower,  and  St  George's  Chapel,  Windsor,  till 
July,  1391,  when  he  was  superseded,  and  lived  on  pensions 
allotted  to  him  by  Richard  and  by  Henry  IV.,  after  he  had 
sent  that  King  in  1399  his  Compleint  to  his  Purse.     Before 

4  The  "customs"  or  export  duties  on  wool  were  then  t/u 
most  important  sources  of  tlie  King's  revenue.  b  John  oj 

Gaunt,  the  Duke  of  Lancaster,  had  been  Chaucer's  patron  in 
early  life.  He  now  lost  pozver,  and  left  England  to  seek  for  a 
crown  in  Spain,  which  he  never  gained. 


CIIAUCKR.  Mi 

1390,  however,  he  had  added  to  his  great  work  its  best 
tales,  those  of  the  Miller,  the  Reeve,  the  Cook,  the  Wife  0/ 
Bath,  the  Merchant,  the  Friar,  the  Nun,  Priest,  Pardoner, 
and  perhaps  the  Sompnour.  The  Prologue  was  probably 
written  in  1388.  In  these,  in  their  humour,  in  their  vivid- 
ness of  portraiture,  in  their  ease  of  narration,  and  in  the 
variety  of  their  chaiacters,  Chaucer  shines  supreme.  A  few 
smaller  poems  belong  to  his  best  time,  such  as  Truth  and 
the  Moder  of  God.  During  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life, 
which  may  be  called  the  period  of  bis  decay,  he  wrote 
some  small  poems,  and  along  with  the  Compleynte  of  Venus, 
and  a  prose  treatise  on  the  Astrolabe,  four  more  tales,  the 
Canon's-yeoman's,  Manciple's,  Monk's  and  Parsone's.  The 
last  was  written  the  year  of  his  death,  1400.  Having  done 
this  work,  he  died  in  a  house  under  the  shadow  of  the  Abbey 
of  Westminster.  Within  the  walls  of  the  Abbey  Church, 
the  first  of  the  poets  who  lies  there,  that  "  sacred  and 
happy  spirit "  sleeps. 

born  of  the  tradesman  class,  Chaucer  was  in  every 
sense  of  the  word  one  of  our  finest  gentlemen  ;  tender, 
graceful  in  thought,  glad  of  heart,  humorous,  and  satirical 
without  unkindness  ;  sensitive  to  every  change  of  feeling 
in  himself  and  others,  and  therefore  full  of  sympathy; 
brave  in  misfortune,  even  to  mirth,  and  doing  well  and 
with  careful  honesty  all  he  undertook.  His  first  and  great 
delight  was  in  human  nature,  and  he  makes  us  love  the 
noble  characters  in  his  poems  and  feel  with  kindliness 
towards  the  baser  and  ruder  sort.  He  never  sneers, 
for  he  had  a  wide  charity,  and  we  can  always  smile  in 
his  pages  at  the  follies  and  forgive  the  sins  of  men.  He 
had  a  tiue  and  chivalrous  regard  for  women,  and  his  wife 
and  he  must  have  been  very  happy  if  they  fulfilled  the  ideal 
he  had  of  marriage.  He  lived  in  aristocratic  society,  and 
yet  he  thought  him  the  greatest  gentleman  who  was  "  most 


i42      rROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

vertuous  alway,  prive,  and  pert  (open),  and  most  entendeth 
aye  to  do  the  gentil  dedes  that  he  can."  He  liv«d  frankly 
among  men,  and  as  we  have  seen,  saw  many  different  types 
of  men,  and  in  his  own  time  filled  many  parts  as  a  man  of 
the  world  and  of  business.  Yet,  with  all  this  active  and 
observant  life,  he  was  commonly  very  quiet  and  kept  much 
to  himself.  The  Host  in  the  Tales  japes  at  him  for  his 
lonely,  abstracted  air.  "  Thou  lookest  as  thou  wouldest 
find  a  hare,  And  ever  on  the  ground  I  see  thee  stare." 

Being  a  good  scholar,  he  read  morning  and  night  alone, 
and  he  says  that  after  his  (office)  work  he  would  go  home 
and  sit  at  another  book  as  dumb  as  a  stone,  till  his  look 
was  dazed.  While  at  study,  and  when  he  was  making  of 
songs  and  ditties,  "  nothing  else  that  God  had  made  "  had 
any  interest  for  him.  There  was  but  one  thing  that  roused 
him  then,  and  that  too  he  liked  to  enjoy  alone.  It 
was  the  beauty  of  the  morning  and  the  fields,  the  woods, 
and  streams,  and  flowers,  and  the  singing  of  the  little  birds. 
This  made  his  heart  full  of  revel  and  solace,  and  when 
spring  came  after  winter,  he  rose  with  the  lark  and  cried, 
"  Farewell  my  book  and  my  devotion."  He  was  the  first 
who  made  the  love  of  nature  a  distinct  element  in  our 
poetry.  He  was  the  first  who,  in  spending  the  whole  day 
gazing  alone  on  the  daisy,  set  going  that  lonely  delight  in 
natural  scenery  which  is  so  special  a  mark  of  our  later  poets. 
He  lived  thus  a  double  life,  in  and  out  of  the  world,  but 
never  a  gloomy  one.  For  he  was  fond  of  mirth  and  good 
living,  and  when  he  grew  towards  age  was  portly  of  waist, 
"no  poppet  to  embrace."  But  he  kept  to  the  end  his 
elvish  countenance,6  the  shy,  delicate,  half-mischievous 
face  which  looked  on  men  from  its  grey  hair  and  forked 
beard,  and  was  set  off  by  his  dark-coloured  dress  and  hood 

5  Elves  were  small  fairy-folk. 


CHAUCER. 

A  knife  and  inkhorn  hung  on  his  dress,  we  see  a  rosary  in 

his  hand,  and  when  he  was  alone  he  walked  swiftly. 

of  Ins  work  it  is  not  easy  to  speak  briefly,  because 
of  its  great  variety.  Enough  has  been  said  of  it,  with 
the  exception  of  his  most  complete  creation,  the  Canter- 
bury Tales.  It  will  be  seen  from  the  dates  given  above 
that  they  were  not  written  at  one  time.  They  are  not,  and 
cannot  be  looked  on  as  a  whole.  Many  were  written  in- 
dependently, and  then  fitted  into  the  framework  of  the 
Prologue  in  1388.  At  that  time  a  number  more  were 
written,  and  the  rest  added  at  intervals  till  his  death.  In 
fact,  the  whole  thing  was  done  much  in  the  same  way 
as  Mr.  Tennyson  has  written  his  Idylls  of  the  King.  The 
manner  in  which  he  knitted  them  together  was  very  simple 
and  likely  to  please  English  people.  The  holiday  ex- 
cursions of  the  time  were  the  pilgrimages,  and  the  most 
famous  and  the  pleasantest  pilgrimage  to  go,  especially 
for  Londoners,  was  the  three  or  four  days'  journey  to  see 
the  shrine  of  St.  Thomas7  at  Canterbury.  Persons  of  all 
ranks  in  life  met  and  travelled  together,  starting  from  a 
London  inn.  Chaucer  seized  on  this  as  the  frame  in  which 
to  set  his  pictures  of  life.  He  grouped  around  the  jovial  host 
of  the  Tabard  Inn  men  and  women  of  every  class  of  society 
in  England,  set  them  on  horseback  to  ride  to  Canterbury, 
and  made  each  of  them  tell  a  tale. 

No  one  could  hit  off  a  character  better,  and  in  his 
Prologue,  and  in  the  prologues  to  the  several  Tales,  the 
whole  of  the  new,  vigorous  English  society  which  had 
grown  up  since  Edward  I.  is  painted  with  astonishing 
vividness.  "I  see  all  the  pilgrims  in  the  Canterbury 
Tales,"  says  Dryden,  "  their  humours,  their  features,  and 
their   very   dress,    as  distinctly   as   if  I    had    supped    with 

7   Thomas  Beckety  who  after  his  djath  became  the  most  popula> 
of  English  saints. 
7* 


144      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

them  at  the  Tabard  in  Southwark."  The  Tales  themselves 
take  in  the  whole  range  of  the  poetry  of  the  middle  ages ; 
the  legend  of  the  saint,  the  romance  of  the  knight,  the 
wonderful  fables  of  the  traveller,  the  coarse  tale  of  common 
life,  the  love  story,  the  allegory,  the  satirical  lay,  and  the 
apologue.  And  they  are  pure  tales.  He  has  been  said  to 
have  had  dramatic  power,  but  he  has  none.  He  is  simply 
our  greatest  story-teller  in  verse.  All  the  best  tales  are  told 
easily,  sincerely,  with  great  grace,  and  yet  with  so  much 
homeliness,  that  a  child  would  understand  them.  Some- 
times his  humour  is  broad,  sometimes  sly,  sometimes  gay, 
sometimes  he  brings  tears  into  our  eyes,  and  he  can  make 
us  smile  or  be  sad  as  he  pleases. 

He  had  a  very  fine  ear  for  the  music  of  verse,  and  the 
tale  and  the  verse  go  together  like  voice  and  music. 
Indeed,  so  softly  flowing  and  bright  are  they,  that  to  read 
them  is  like  listening  in  a  meadow  full  of  sunshine  to  a  clear 
stream  rippling  over  its  bed  of  pebbles.  The  English  in 
which  they  are  written  is  almost  the  English  of  our  time ; 
and  it  is  literary  English.  Chaucer  made  our  tongue  into 
a  true  means  of  poetry.  He  did  more,  he  welded  together 
the  French  and  English  elements  in  our  language  and  made 
them  into  one  English  tool  for  the  use  of  literature,  and  all 
our  prose  writers  and  poets  derive  their  tongue  from  the 
language  of  the  Canterbury  Tales.  They  give  him  honour 
for  this,  but  still  more  for  that  he  was  the  first  English 
artist.  Poetry  is  an  art,  and  the  artist  in  poetry  is  one  who 
writes  for  pure  pleasure  and  for  nothing  else  the  thing  he 
writes,  and  who  desires  to  give  to  others  the  same  fine  pleasure 
by  his  poems  which  he  had  in  writing  them.  The  thing  he 
most  cares  about  is  that  the  form  in  which  he  puts  his 
thoughts  or  feelings  may  be  perfectly  fitting  to  the  subject, 
and  as  beaatiful  as  possible — but  for  this  he  cares  very 
greatly ;  and  in  this  Chaucer  stands  apart  from  the  other  poets 


CRESSY.  1 1? 

of  his  time.  Gowei  wrote  with  a  moral  object,  and  nothing 
can  be  duller  than  the  form  in  which  he  puts  his  tales.  The 
author  of  Piers  the  Ploughman  wrote  with  the  object  of  reform 
in  social  and  ecclesiastical  affairs,  and  his  form  is  uncouth 
and  harsh.  Chaucer  wrote  because  he  was  full  of  emotion 
and  joy  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  thought  that  others  would 
weep  and  be  glad  with  him,  and  the  only  time  he  ever 
moralizes  is  in  the  Tales  of  the  Yeoman  and  the  Manciple, 
written  in  his  decay.  He  has,  then,  the  best  right  to  the 
poet's  name.     He  is  our  first  English  artist. 


XXVIII. 

CRESSY. 
MISS      Y  O  N  G  E. 

[While  Chaucer  was  singing,  England  was  winning  a  warlike 
fame  such  as  it  had  never  known.  The  war  with  Scot- 
land had  brought  with  it  a  quarrel  with  the  French  kings, 
who  saw  in  the  struggle  of  England  with  the  Scotch  an 
opportunity  for  getting  hold  of  Aquitaine,  the  only 
English  possession  left  in  France.  To  meet  this  Edward 
the  Third  laid  claim  to  the  crown  of  France  itself,  in  right 
of  his  mother,  who  was  the  daughter  of  a  French  king. 
So  began  a  war  which  was  to  last  more  than  a  hundred 
years.  At  first  Edward  had  small  success  ;  as  he  trusted 
in  foreign  soldiers  and  foreign  princes  whom  he  hired 
with  money  ;  but  at  last  he  threw  himself  on  England 
alone,  landed  with  an  English  army  in  Normandy,  and 
marched  upon  Paris.  He  was  forced  however  to  fall 
back,  and  was  pursued  by  the  King  of  France,  Philippe  of 
Valois,  as  far  as  the  Somme,  where  he  was  all  but  cut 
off.  Luckily  he  found  a  ford,  and  was  able  to  get 
across  into  the  province  of  Pontnieu,  where  he  encamped 
at  the  village  of  Creci  or  Cressy] 


i46     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTOM'. 

Edward  had  encamped  at  the  village  of  Creci,  when, 
on  Friday  afternoon,  the  25th  of  August,  1346,  he  learnt 
that  the  French  army  had  crossed  by  the  bridge  of  Abbe- 
ville. "  Let  us  post  ourselves  here,"  he  said.  "  We  will 
go  no  further  till  we  have  seen  our  enemies.  I  have 
good  reason  to  wait  for  them  here,  for  I  am  on  the  law- 
ful inheritance  of  my  lady  mother."1  Then  giving  his  men 
orders  to  be  in  readiness  for  battle  on  the  morrow,  he 
gave  a  supper  in  his  tent  to  the  earls  and  knights,  where 
they  made  good  cheer ;  but  he  dismissed  them  early,  and 
repairing  to  his  oratory,  knelt  before  the  altar,  entreating 
that  if  he  should  give  battle  the  next  day  he  might  come 
off  with  honour.  At  midnight  he  went  to  rest,  but,  rising 
early,  he  and  his  son2  heard  mass  and  communicated,  as  did 
most  of  the  troops.  Brave  as  they  were,  it  was  an  anxious 
moment,  for  their  numbers  were  but  an  eighth  of  those  cf 
the  French  ;  and  be  it  remembered  that  this  was  only  the 
first  of  the  long  series  of  battles  which  afterwards  estab- 
lished the  Englishman's  almost  overweening  confidence 
of  victory. 

Whether  it  was  because  Edward  wished  that  his  son 
should  have  the  full  honour  of  his  first  battle,  or  that 
he  desired  to  obviate  the  mischief  to  England  of  his  death 
while  his  children  were  young,  or  that  he  feared  Philippe 
would  again  balk  him  of  his  conflict  should  the  two  monarchs 
both  command  in  person,  he  placed  the  first  division  under 
the  command  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  assisted  by  the  Earl  of 
Warwick  and  Sir  Godfrey  de  Harcourt.  It  consisted  of  800 
men-at-arms,  2,000  archers,  and  1,000  Welshmen  ;  with  them 
were  certain  new  machines,3  never  yet  used  in  battle,  though 

1  Ponthieu  had  been  given   at  her  marriage  to  his  vtothe~, 
Isabella  of  France.  2  Prince  Edward,  ca'led  the  Black 

Prince,  from  the  colour  of  his  armour.  3  Cressy  was  the 

first  battle  where  guns  and  gunpowder  were  used.     J'hey  h.td 
been  used  before  in  .sieges. 


CRESSY.  i  17 

In  sieges  proof  had  sometimes  been  made  of  Friar  I'.. iron's 
invention.4  The  next  division,  under  the  Earl  of  North- 
ampton, amounted  to  800 men-at-arms 6  and  1,200  archers; 
and  the  reserve,  which  the  King  kept  highest  up  on  the 
lull  in  the  rear,  was  of  the  same  number.  Edward  then 
mounted  a  small  palfrey,  and  with  a  white  wand  in  his  hand, 
rode  along  the  ranks,  accompanied  by  his  two  marshals,  the 
Earl  of  Warwick  and  Sir  Godfrey  de  Harcourt,  going  at  a 
foot's  pace,  encouraging  and  entreating  his  troops  so  sweetly, 
and  with  so  cheerful  a  countenance,  that  all  took  heart.  By 
this  time  it  was  ten  o'clock,  and  he  returned  to  his  own 
division,  bidding  his  men  dine  heartily,  and  drink  a  glass 
after,  in  which  matter  they  willingly  obeyed  him.  They 
then  packed  up  their  cooking  apparatus,  returned  to  their 
places,  and  all  sat  down  in  their  order,  sheltering  themselves 
as  best  they  might  from  the  showers,  with  their  helmets  and 
bows  laid  beside  them,  that  they  might  be  in  full  force  and 
vigour  when  the  enemy  should  appear. 

No  such  precautions  had  been  taken  by  Philippe  de  Valois.6 
He  put  his  trust  in  the  imposing  array  of  names  and  huge 
numbers  that  he  had  collected.  He  had  with  him  the  King 
of  Bohemia,"  who,  blind  as  he  was,  could  not  endure  to  miss 
a  battle ;  his  son,  Charles  of  Luxemburg ;  Jayme,  King  of 
Majorca,  of  the  House  of  Arragon  ;  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  ; 
the  Count  of  Flanders  ;  and  Sir  John  of  Hainault,s  Edward's 
old  friend  and  master  in  the  art  of  war ;  8,000  knights  and 


A  Bacon,  a  Franciscan  friar,  first  mentions  the  composition  if 
gunpowder,  which  he  may  have  invented.  5  Men-at- 

arms  were  knights  ami  their  mounted  followers,  squires,  ami 
"  lances,"  as  they  were  called.         G  The  French  Tiing,         ''  f 
of  Luxemburg,  who  with  his  son   Charles,  a  claimant  of  the 
Empire,  were  on  the  French  border  at  the  tin:  (ward's 

advance  on  Paris,  and  came  to  its  relief.  dward  had 

married  Philippa,  daughter  of  the  Count  of  Ilainault.     Her 
uncle,  John,  had  helped  Edward  in  his  wars  with  the  Scots. 


143      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

60,000  infantry,  a  sixth  part  of  whom  were  Genoese9  cross- 
bowmen,  reputed  the  best  sailors  and  the  best  archers. 
Early  in  the  morning  he  heard  mass  at  Abbeville,  and  set 
forth  at  sunrise,  under  a  heavy  fall  of  rain ;  all  the  nobles 
setting  out,  each  man  on  his  own  account,  without  any  con- 
certed plan,  except  that  some  one  advised  him  to  halt  the 
cavalry  and  let  the  foot  go  forward,  lest  they  should  be 
trampled  down  by  the  horses.  Four  nobles  then  galloped 
forward  to  reconnoitre,  and  returning,  with  difficulty  pushed 
through  the  crowds,  and  told  the  King  how  fresh  and 
vigorous  the  English  looked,  strongly  advising  him  to  wait 
where  he  was  for  the  night,  and  get  his  troops  into  better 
array,  instead  of  attacking  while  they  were  wearied  and 
disorganized  by  their  disorderly  march. 

Philippe  had  sense  enough  to  consent,  and  his  marshals 
rode  about,  shouting,  "  Halt,  banners,  in  the  name  of  St. 
Denis  !  "10  but  no  one  had  any  notion  of  attending.  The 
fiery  gentlemen  thought  their  honour  concerned  in  going  as 
near  the  foe  as  possible;  so  the  hindmost  declared  they 
would  not  stop  till  they  were  even  with  the  front ;  the  front 
pushed  on  to  be  before  them,  till  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
dark-green  ranks  of  yeomen,  sitting  in  good  order  upon  the 
hill  of  Creci ;  whereupon  they  all  came  to  a  sudden  stand, 
and  fell  back,  so  that  those  in  the  rear  thought  the  fight  had 
begun,  and  pressed  forward  or  hung  back,  according  to  the 
condition  of  their  nerves ;  while  the  common  people,  who 
choked  up  the  roads,  valiantly  drew  their  swords  and 
shouted,  "  Kill,  kill  ! "  and  the  nobles  left  behind  struggled 
to  force  their  way  through  them ;  so  that  no  one  who  had 
not  been  present  could  conceive  the  bad  management  and 
disorder  of  that  day. 

9  Fro7>i  the  Riviera,  or  shore  of  the  Gulf  of  Genoa,  all  which 
Genoa  ruled.  France  had  hired  them  to  match  the  English 
archers.  10  The  patron  saint  of  France. 


CRESS  Y.  149 

The  King  was  pushed  forward  unwillingly,  until,  at  about 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  he  came  in  sight  of  the  1 
lish,  when  his  blood  was  stirred,  for  he  bitterly  hated  them, 
and  he  called  out  to  his  marshals,  "  Send  forward  the 
Genoese,  and  begin  the  battle  !"  The  unfortunate  Genoese 
had  marched  eighteen  miles  in  heavy  rain,  under  their 
armour,  and  carrying  their  crossbows ;  and  they  told  the 
Constable  d'Eu  that  their  strings  were  limp,  and  they  were 
in  no  state  to  do  good  service.  Out  broke  the  Count  d' 
Alencon  in  a  passion,  "  This  comes  of  cumbering  ourselves 
with  a  ribald  crew,  who  always  fail  in  time  of  need  ! "  And 
the  two  Genoese  admirals,  Doria  and  Grimaldi,  men  as 
noble  and  as  proud  as  himself,  and  far  more  skilful,  were 
forced  to  do  their  best  to  confute  the  taunt  by  arraying  their 
men  as  well  as  they  could,  while  an  August  thunderstorm 
was  raging  overhead,  the  blackness  increased  by  a  solar 
eclipse,  and  the  crows  and  ravens,  whose  strange  instinct 
scented  the  battle,  screaming  and  napping  about  in  the 
torrents  of  rain  and  hail. 

The  English  yeomen  meanwhile  quietly  rose  up,  each 
man  in  his  place,  so  that  as  they  stood  their  battalions  took 
the  form  of  a  harrow,  in  squares  like  a  chessboard.  Each 
donned  his  steel  cap,  and  drew  his  bowstring  from  the  case 
where  it  had  been  kept  dry ;  and  at  that  moment  the  cloud 
began  to  roll  off,  leaving  a  clear  sky  towards  the  west,  so 
that  the  sun  broke  cheerfully  out  with  strong,  clear  beams, 
which  fell  on  the  backs  of  the  English,  but  dazzled  and 
blinded  the  eyes  of  their  adversaries. 

The  Genoese  were  by  this  time  in  order,  and  "  leapt  for- 
ward with  a  fell  cry,"  hoping  to  frighten  their  enemies,  as 
no  doubt  they  had  often  done  to  unwarlike  Italian  citizens ; 
but  finding  the  English  stood  still  and  paid  no  attention 
they  hooted  again  and  came  forward  ;  then,  with  a  third 
cry,  discharged  such  of  their  crossbows  as  were  not  too 


ISO      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

damp  to  use.  Then,  thick  as  snow,  came  the  arrows  from 
the  longbows,  piercing  heads  and  arms,  and  through  cuirasses; 
and  mingled  with  these  came  large  balls  of  iron,  propelled 
from  the  hill  above  with  sounds  like  the  retreating  thunder 
of  the  storm,  doing  deadly  execution,  and  terrifying  men 
and  horses.  The  Genoese  gave  back ;  but  behind  them 
were  the  brilliant  and  impatient  knights,  wild  to  press  for- 
wards ;  and  finding  the  way  encumbered,  Philippe  shouted 
the  barbarous  order,  "  Kill  me  those  rascals,  who  block  our 
way  without  reason  ! "  and  the  unhappy  Italians  were 
actually  cut  down  and  trampled  upon  on  all  sides  by  the 
very  men  in  whose  cause  they  were  fighting.  But  when  the 
French  came  within  the  flight  of  those  deadly  shafts,  they 
brooked  them  as  little  as  did  the  Genoese ;  their  horses 
capered  and  curveted,  and  became  unmanageable,  and  the 
wild  Welshmen,11  rushing  down  with  their  knives,  mingled 
themselves  with  the  disordered  French,  and  killed  a  great 
number.  The  old  King  of  Bohemia,  hearing  the  cries 
around,  desired  to  know  where  his  son  Charles  was,  and  was 
told  that  he  was  not  at  hand,  but  was  probably  fighting 
elsewhere.  "  Sirs,"  cried  the  old  man,  "  do  me  this  favour 
— to  lead  me  where  I  may  strike  one  stroke  !  "  Two  of  his 
knights  thereupon  tied  the  bridles  of  their  horses  to  his, 
and  rode  on  either  side  of  him  into  the  fray;  and  there  all 
three  bravely  died  together  :  while  Charles,  who  had  by  no 
means  such  a  taste  for  fighting  as  his  father,  rode  safely  out 
of  the  battle ;  "  and  I  do  not  know  which  road  he  took," 
scornfully  observes  Froissart.12 

There  were  French  enough  left  to  draw  into  some  sort  of 
order,  with  the  Counts  of  Alencon  and  Flanders  ;  and  they 
made  a  formidable  charge,  the  King  trying  constantly  to  get 
to  where  he  saw  flying  the  banners  of  the  English  cavalry, 

11  Edward  had  brought  footmen  from  Wales  in  his  army. 

12  A  canon  of  Liege,  who  wrote  the  story  of  these  times. 


CRESSY.  151 

but  there  was  always  a  hedge  of  archers  before  him.  One 
large  body,  however,  broke  through  the  archers,  and  had  so 
fierce  a  conflict  with  the  Soo  knights  of  the  first  troop,  that 
the  second  was  forced  to  come  to  their  assistance,  and  the 
Earl  of  Warwick  sent  Sir  Thomas  Norwich  to  the  windmill 
where  King' Edward  stood  that  whole  day  without  his 
helmet,  to  ask  him  to  bring  up  the  reserve.  "  Is  my  son 
dead,  or  hurt,  or  to  the  earth  felled?"  asked  Edward. 
"  No,  Sir  ;  but  he  is  full  hardly  matched  ;  wherefore  he  hath 
need  of  your  aid."  "  Now,  Sir  Thomas,"  replied  the  King, 
"return  to  him,  and  to  them  that  sent  you  hither,  and  say 
to  thern  that  they  send  no  more  to  me  as  long  as  my  son  is 
alive,  for  any  adventure  that  falleth;  and  also  tell  them 
that  I  command  them  to  suffer  the  boy  to  win  his  spurs, 
for,  if  God  be  pleased,  I  will  that  this  day  be  his,  and  the 
honour  thereof,  and  to  them  that  be  about  him." 

The  danger  had  indeed  been  great,  for  young  Edward 
was  at  one  time  unhorsed,  and  struck  to  the  ground ; 
but  one  of  his  loving  Welsh  knights  who  carried  the  great 
dragon  standard  threw  it  over  him  as  he  lay,  and  stood 
upon  it  till  the  enemy  were  forced  back,  for,  as  doubtless 
the  eye  of  the  King  had  discerned  from  his  station  at  the 
top  of  the  hill,  this  impetuous  charge  was  unsupported 
The  numerous  knights  and  men-at-arms  of  the  French  army 
could  not  struggle  up  to  their  comrades,  impeded  as  they 
were  by  the  Genoese  striking  right  and  left  for  their  lives, 
and  by  the  Welsh  and  Cornishmen,  whose  long  knives  did 
deadly  execution.  Some  nobles  fell  into  ditches,  and  were 
dragged  out  by  their  squires ;  and  pages  and  squires  were 
wandering  about  looking  for  their  masters  at  the  bottom  of 
the  hill;  while  on  the  slope  the  English  chivalry11  had  re- 
pulsed the  dangerous  charge  of  the  two  Counts,  and  were 
cutting    down    the    best   knights    of    France.       Only  sixty 

B  Knights. 


152     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

knights  remained  around  King  Philippe,  and  his  standard 
bearer  was  killed  before  his  eyes ;  a  hot  conflict  took  place 
for  the  possession  of  the  precious  Oriflamme,14  but  it  was 
ended  by  a  gallant  Frenchman,  who  leapt  from  his  horse, 
ripped  it  from  the  shaft  with  his  sword,  wrapped  it  round 
his  body,  and  rode  off.  Philippe's  horse  was  killed  under 
him  by  an  arrow,  and  Sir  John  of  Hainault  remounted  him, 
saying,  "Sir,  retreat  while  you  have  the  opportunity;  do 
not  expose  yourself  so  simply  :  if  you  have  lost  this  battle 
you  will  win  another  time  ! "  and  laying  hold  of  his  bridle, 
he  dragged  him  off  the  field  in  the  dusk  of  the  summer 
evening.  On  they  galloped,  only  four  other  nobles  with 
them,  and  the  sounds  of  defeat  and  slaughter  ringing  in 
their  ears,  till  darkness  closed  in  upon  them,  and  they  came 
to  the  Castle  of  Broye,  where  the  gates  were  closed  and  the 
drawbridge  raised.  The  governor  came  out  on  the  battle- 
ments, and  demanded  who  called  at  such  an  hour.  "  Open, 
open,  Governor,"  cried  Philippe,  "it  is  the  fortune  of 
France." 

14  The  standard  of  France,  kept  at  the  abbey  of  St.  Deris. 


END   «>F   PART   I. 


READINGS  FROM   ENGLISH    HISTORY. 

PART  II. 

FROM   CRESSY  TO   CROMWELL. 


PROSE   READINGS 
FROM   ENGLISH   HISTORY. 


PART  II. 
I. 

THE  PEASANT  RISING. 
GREEN. 

[The  victory  of  Cressy  was  the  first  of  a  series  of  successes 
which  placed  England  high  among  military  powers  and 
forced   PTance    by  the   Treaty  of  Bretigny  to  grant   to 
Edward  full  sovereignty  of  Aquitaine  and  the  possession 
of  Calais.     But  war  brought  with  it  suffering  :  and   both 
countries    shared    in  the  terrible  scourge  of   the  plague 
which  was  called  the  Black  Death.    To  the  suffering  caused 
by  war  and  pestilence  was  added  at  the  close  of  Edward's 
reign  the  shame  of  defeat.     While  England  was  exhausted 
by  its  victories,  France  woke  to  a  fresh  energy,  and    re- 
fusing to  fulfil  the  terms  of  peace,   stripped   Edward  of 
all  his  conquests  save  Calais,  and  in  union  with  Castille 
made  herself  mistress  of  the  seas  and  ruined  English  com- 
merce.    Money  was   squandered  in  desperate  efforts-  to 
regain  the  old  supremacy  in  the  field ;  and  the  pressure 
of  taxation  drove   England   to   despair.     The    death    of 
Edward  the  Third    left    the   crown  to    his   grandson,    a 
boy  named    Richard  the  Second  ;  and  the  country  felt 
the  weakness  of  the   government  in  a  general  disorder. 
Still  the  war  called  for  money ;  and  the  Parliament  were 
driven  to  raise  money  by  a  tax,  not  as  of  old  on   lands, 


3  PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

but  on  every  man  and  woman  personally,  "  by  head,' 
which  was  hence  called  a  poll-tax.  This  was  levied  from 
people  who  had  till  now  been  free  from  taxation,  and  who 
were  just  awaking  to  the  injustice  of  their  state  as 
"serfs,"  or  bondsmen,  bound  to  do  service  in  labour  on 
their  lords'  lands.  A  preacher  named  John  Ball  fanned 
the  discontent  into  a  temper  of  rebellion  ;  and  in  1381 
the  commons  rose  in  the  Peasant  Revolt.] 

As  the  spring  went  by  quaint  rimes  passed  through  the 

country,  and  served  as  a  summons  to  revolt.     "  John  Ball," 

ran  one,  "greeteth  you  all,  and  doth  for  to  understand  he 

hath  rung  your  bell.     Now  right  and  might,  will  and  skill, 

God  speed  every  dele."  x     "  Help  truth,"  ran  another,  "  and 

truth  shall  help  you  !     Now  reigneth  pride  in    price,   and 

covetise 2  is  counted  wise,  and  lechery  withouten  shame,  and 

gluttony  withouten  blame.     Envy  reigneth  with  treason,  and 

sloth  is  take  3  in  great  season.     God  do  bote,4  for  now  is 

tyme  ! "     We  recognize  Ball's  hand  in  the  yet  more  stirring 

missives  of   "Jack    the    Miller"  and  "Jack  the   Carter." 

"  Jack  Miller  asketh  help  to  turn  his  mill  aright.     He  hath 

grounden  small,  small  :  the  King's  Son  of  Heaven  he  shall 

pay  for  all.     Look  thy  mill  go  aright  with  the  four  sailes, 

and  the  post  stand  with  steadfastness.     With  right  and  with 

might,  with  skill  and  with  will ;  let  might  help  right,  and 

skill  go  before  will,  and  right  before  might,  so  goeth  our 

mill  aright."     "  Jack  Carter,"  ran  the  companion  missive, 

"  prays  you  all  that  ye  make  a  good  end  of  that  ye  have 

begun,  and  do  well,  and  "aye  better  and  better :  for  at  the 

even  men  heareth  the  day."     "Falseness  and  guile,"  sang 

Jack  Trewman,  "  have  reigned  too  long,  and  truth  hath  been 

set  under  a  lock,  and  falseness  and  guile  reigneth  in  every 

stock.     No  man  may  come  truth    to,  but  if  he   sing  '  si 

dedero.'  5     True  love  is  away  that  was  so  good,  and  clerks 

1  Part j  i.e.  every  one's  effort.  2  Creed.  3  Held. 

4  Help.  s  i.e.  unless  he  gives  brides  to  the  judges. 


THE  PEASANT  RISING.  3 

for  wealth  work  them  woe.  Clod  do  bote,  for  now  is  time." 
In  the  rude  jingle  of  these  lines  began  for  England  the 
literature  of  political  controversy  ;  they  are  the  first  predc- 
^ors  of  the  pamphlets  of  Milton  and  of  Burke.  Rough 
us  they  are,  they  express  clearly  enough  the  mingled  passions 
which  met  in  the  revolt  of  the  peasants  ;  their  longing  for  a 
right  rule,  for  plain  and  simple  justice ;  their  scorn  of  the 
immorality  of  the  nobles  and  the  infamy  of  the  court  ;  their 
resentment  at  the  perversion  of  the  law  to  the  cause  of 
oppression. 

From  the  eastern  and  midland  counties  the  restlessness 
spread  to  all  England  south  of  the  Thames.  But  the 
grounds  of  discontent  varied  with  every  district.  The 
actual  outbreak  began  on  the  5th  of  June  at  Dartfon!/1 
where  a  tiler  killed  one  of  the  collectors  of  the  poll-tax  in 
vengeance  for  a  brutal  outrage  on  his  daughter.  The 
county  at  once  rose  in  arms.  Canterbery,  where  "  the 
whole  town  was  of  their  mind,"  threw  open  its  gates  to 
the  insurgents  who  plundered  the  Archbishop's  palace  and 
dragged  John  Ball7  from  his  prison.  A  hundred  thousand 
Kentishmen  gathered  round  Walter  Tyler  of  Essex  and 
John  Hales  of  Mailing  to  march  upon  London.  Their 
grievance  was  mainly  a  political  one.  Villeinage8  was  un- 
known in  Kent.  As  the  peasants  poured  towards  Black- 
heath  indeed  every  lawyer  who  fell  into  their  hands  was  put 
to  death  ;  "  not  till  all  these  were  killed  would  the  land 
enjoy  its  old  freedom  again,"  the  Kentishmen  shouted  as 
they  fired  the  houses  of  the  stewards  and  flung  the  rolls  of 
the  manor-courts9  into  the  flames.  But  this  action  can 
hardly  have  been  due  to  anything  more  than  sympathy  with 

fi  In  Kent.  7  He  had  been  thrown  into  prison  ft  r 

seditious  preaching.  8  The  state  of  the  serf  or  villein,  7L'h<> 
was  bound  to  labour  for  a  lord  and  might  not  quit  his  lands 

v  In  which  the  services  due  by  the  villeins  were  entered. 


4  PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

the  rest  of  the  realm,  the  sympathy  which  induced  the  same 
men  when  pilgrims  from  the  north  brought  news  that  John 
of  Gaunt  was  setting  free  his  bondmen  to  send  to  the  Duke 
an  offer  to  make  him  Lord  and  King  of  England.  Nor  was 
their  grievance  a  religious  one.  Lollardiy  10  can  have  made 
little  way  among  men  whose  grudge  against  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  sprang  from  his  discouragement  of  pil- 
grimages. Their  discontent  was  simply  political ;  they 
demanded  the  suppression  of  the  poll-tax  and  better  go- 
vernment ;  their  aim  was  to  slay  the  nobles  and  wealthier 
clergy,  to  take  the  King  into  their  own  hands,  and  pass  laws 
which  should  seem  good  to  the  Commons  of  the  realm. 

The  whole  population  joined  the  Kentishmen  as  they 
marched  along,  while  the  nobles  were  paralyzed  with  fear. 
The  young  King  u — he  was  but  a  boy  of  sixteen — addressed 
them  from  a  boat  on  the  river;  but  the  refusal  of  his 
Council  under  the  guidance  of  Archbishop  Sudbury  to 
allow  him  to  land  kindled  the  peasants  to  fury,  and  with 
cries  of  "Treason"  the  great  mass  rushed  on  London. 
On  the  13th  of  June  its  gates  were  flung  open  by  the 
poorer  artizans  within  the  city,  and  the  stately  palace  of 
John  of  Gaunt 12  at  the  Savoy,  the  new  inn  of  the  lawyers  at 
the  Temple,  the  houses  of  the  foreign  merchants,  were  soon 
in  a  blaze.  But  the  insurgents,  as  they  proudly  boasted, 
were  "  seekers  of  truth  and  justice,  not  thieves  or  robbers," 
and  a  plunderer  found  carrying  off  a  silver  vessel  from  the 
sack  of  the  Savoy  was  flung  with  his  spoil  into  the  flames. 
Another  body  of  insurgents  encamped  at  the  same  time 
to  the  east  of  the  city.  In  Essex  and  the  eastern  counties 
''the  popular  discontent  was  more  social  than  political.  The 
demands    of  the    peasants    were    that   bondage   should  be 

10  In  Edward  the  Third's  day  John  IViclif  had  taught  a  new 
and  reformed  religion.     His  followers  were  called  Lollards. 

11  Richard  the' Second.  n  The  Ditke  of  Lancaster,  the 
King's  uncle,  who  was  hated  by  the  people. 


THE  PEASANT  RISING.  5 

abolished,  that  tolls  and  imposts  on  trade  should  be  done 
away  with,  that  "  no  acre  of  land  which  is  held  in  bondage 
or  villeinage  be  held  at  higher  rate  than  fourpence  a  year," 
in  other  words  for  a  money  commutation  of  all  villein 
services.13  Their  rising  had  been  even  earlier  than  that  of 
the  Kentishmen.  Before  Whitsuntide  an  attempt  to  levy 
the  poll-tax  gathered  crowds  of  peasants  together,  armed 
with  clubs,  rusty  swords,  and  bows.  The  royal  commis- 
sioners who  were  sent  to  repress  the  tumult  were  driven  from 
the  field,  and  the  Essex  men  marched  upon  London  on  one 
side  of  the  river  as  the  Kentishmen  maiched  on  the  other. 
The  evening  of  the  thirteenth,  the  day  on  which  Tyler  entered 
the  city,  saw  them  encamped  without  its  walls  at  Mile-end. 
At  the  same  moment  Highbury  and  the  northern  heights 
were  occupied  by  the  men  of  Hertfordshire  and  the  villeins 
of  St.  Alban's,  where  a  strife  between  abbot  and  town  had 
been  going  on  since  the  days  of  Edward  the  Second. 

The  royal  Council  with  the  young  King  had  taken  refuge 
in  the  Tower,  and  their  aim  seems  to  have  been  to  divide 
the  forces  of  the  insurgents.  On  the  morning  of  the 
fourteenth  therefore  Richard  rode  from  the  Tower  to  Mile- 
end  14  to  meet  the  Essex  men.  "  I  am  your  King  and  Lord, 
good  people,"  the  boy  began  with  a  fearlessness  which 
marked  his  bearing  throughout  the  crisis,  "  what  will  you  ? ' 
"  We  will  that  you  free  us  for  ever,"  shouted  the  peasants, 
"  us  and  our  lands  ;  and  that  we  be  never  named  nor  held 
for  serfs  1  "  "I  grant  it,"  replied  Richard ;  and  he  bade 
them  go  home,  pledging  himself  at  once  to  issue  charters 
of  freedom  and  amnesty.  A  shout  of  joy  welcomed  the 
promise.  Throughout  the  day  more  than  thirty  clerks 
were  busied  writing  letters  of  pardon  and  emancipation,16 

13  Services  in  labour  due  by  the  peasants  to  their  lords. 

14  On  the  eastern  road  out  of  London.  u  Freedom  from 
serfdom. 

6 


6  PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

and  with  these  the  mass  of  the  Essex  men  and  the  men  oi 
Hertfordshire  withdrew  quietly  to  their  homes.  But  while 
the  King  was  successful  at  Mile-end  a  terrible  doom  had 
fallen  on  the  councillors  he  left  behind  him.  Richard  had 
hardly  quitted  the  Tower  when  the  Kentishmen  who  had 
spent  the  night  within  the  city  appeared  at  its  gates.  The 
general  terror  was  shown  ludicrously  enough  when  they 
burst  in  and  taking  the  panic  stricken  knights  of  the  royal 
household  in  rough  horse-play  by  the  beard  promised  to  be 
their  equals  and  good  comrades  in  the  days  to  come.  But 
the  horse-play  changed  into  dreadful  earnest  when  they 
found  that  Richard  had  escaped  their  grasp,  and  the  dis- 
covery of  Archbishop  Sudbury  and  other  ministers  in  the 
chapel  changed  their  fury  into  a  cry  for  blood.  The  Primate 
was  dragged  from  his  sanctuary  and  beheaded.  The  same 
vengeance  was  wreaked  on  the  Treasurer  and  the  Chief 
Commissioner  for  the  levy  of  the  hated  poll-tax,  the 
merchant  Richard  Lyons  who  had  been  impeached  by 
the  Good  Parliament. 

Richard  meanwhile  had  ridden  round  the  northern 
wall  of  the  city  to  the  Wardrobe  near  Blackfriars,16  and 
from  this  new  refuge  he  opened  his  negotiations  with 
the  Kentish  insurgents.  Many  of  these  dispersed  at 
the  news  of  the  King's  pledge  to  the  men  of  Essex, 
but  a  body  of  thirty  thousand  still  surrounded  Wat  Tyler 
when  Richard  on  the  morning  of  the  fifteenth  encoun- 
tered that  leader  by  a  mere  chance  at  Smithfield.  Hot 
words  passed  between  his  train  and  the  peasant  chief- 
tain, who  advanced  to  confer  with  the  King,  and  a  threat 
from  Tyler  brought  on  a  brief  struggle  in  which  the 
Mayor  of  London,  William  Walworth,  struck  him  with  his 
dagger  to  the  ground.  "  Kill  1  kill !  "  shouted  the  crowd, 
"  they  have  slain  our  captain  1 "     But  Richard  faced  the 

*6  On  the  western  side  of  London. 


AGINCOURT.  7 

Kentishmen  with  the  same  cool  courage  with  which  he  faced 
the  men  of  Essex.  "What  need  ye,  my  masters?"  cried 
the  boy-king  as  he  rode  boldly  up  to  the  front  of  the  bow- 
men. "  1  am  your  Captain  and  your  King  ;  Follow  me  !  " 
The  hopes  of  the  peasants  centred  in  the  young  sovereign  ; 
one  aim  of  their  rising  had  been  to  free  him  from  the  evil 
counsellors  who,  as  they  believed,  abused  his  youth  ;  and 
at  his  word  they  followed  him  with  a  touching  loyalty  and 
trust  till  he  entered  the  Tower.  His  mother  welcomed 
him  within  its  walls  with  tears  of  joy.  "  Rejoice  and  praise 
God,"  Richard  answered,  "for  I  have  recovered  to-day  my 
heritage  which  was  lost  and  the  realm  of  England  !  "  But 
he  was  compelled  to  give  the  same  pledge  of  freedom 
to  the  Kentishmen  as  at  Mile-end,  and  it  was  only  after 
receiving  his  letters  of  pardon  and  emancipation  that  the 
yeomen  dispersed  to  their  homes. 


II. 

AGINCOURT. 
MICHELET. 

[Richard's  pledge  was  broken ;  the  peasant  revolt  was  put 
down  with  terrible  bloodshed  ;  and  serfdom  set  up  again. 
But  the  troubles  of  England  went  on  ;  and  though  peace 
with  France  was  won  for  a  while,  Richard's  own  mis- 
government  at  last  forced  England  to  a  general  rising.  He 
was  driven  from  the  throne ;  and  his  cousin  Henry,  the 
son  of  John  of  Gaunt,  was  made  King  in  his  stead  as 
Henry  the  Fourth.  Henry's  whole  reign  was  a  struggle 
against  treason  and  revolt ;  and  it  was  not  till  the  days  of 
his  son,  Henry  the  Fifth,  that  England  was  again  at  peace. 
To  strengthen  his  throne,  Henry  the  Fifth  levived  the 
old  quarrel  with  France ;  and  landing  in  Normandy  took 


8  PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Harfleur  with  great  loss  and  suffering.  His  weakened 
army  then  marched  for  Calais  ;  but  was  overtaken  on  its 
way  at  Agincourt  by  the  army  of  the  French  king,  Charles 
the  Sixth.] 

The  two  armies  were  strangely  contrasted.  On  the 
French  side  might  be  seen  three  enormous  squadrons,  like 
three  forests  of  lances,  which  in  this  narrow  plain  followed 
one  another  in  order,  and  extended  to  a  vast  depth  ;  in 
their  front  stood  the  Constable,  the  Princes,  the  Dukes 
of  Orleans,  of  Bar,  and  of  Alencon,  the  Counts  of  Nevers, 
of  Eu,  of  Richemont,  of  Vendome,  a  crowd  of  nobles,  a 
dazzling  rainbow  of  enamelled  armour,  of  coats  of  arms, 
of  banners,  of  horses  strangely  masked  in  steel  and  gold. 
The  French  had  their  archers  too,  men  of  the  commons 
these ;  but  where  were  they  to  be  set  ?  Every  place  was 
disposed  of;  no  one  would  give  up  his  post ;  people  such 
as  these  archers  would  have  been  a  blot  on  so  noble  a 
gathering.  There  were  cannons  too,  but  it  does  not  seem 
that  they  were  used ;  probably  no  more  room  could  be 
found  for  them  than  for  the  bowmen.  On  the  other  side 
stood  the  English  army.  Its  outer  seeming  was  poor 
enough.  The  archers  had  no  armour — often  no  shoes ;  they 
had  wretched  headpieces  of  boiled  leather,  or  even  of  osier, 
guarded  by  a  cross-piece  of  iron  ;  the  axes  and  hatchets 
hung  at  their  belts  gave  them  the  look  of  carpenters. 
Many  of  these  good  workmen  had  loosed  their  belts  to 
work  the  more  easily,  first  to  bend  the  bow,  then  to  wield 
the  axe,  when  time  came  for  leaving  behind  them  the 
line  of  sharpened  stakes  which  protected  their  front  and  for 
hewing  at  the  motionless  masses  which  stood  before  them. 

For  strange,  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  certain  that 
the  French  army  could  not  move,  either  to  fight  or  fly. 
In  the  after  struggle  the  rear-guard  alone  made  its  escape. 
At  the   critical   moment  indeed  of  the   battle,  when   old 


AGINCOURT.  Q 

Thomas  of  Erpingham,  alter  putting  the  English  army  in 
array,  threw  up  his  staff  in  the  air,  and  cried  "  Now  strike  I  " 
while  the  English  replied  with  a  shout  of  ten  thousand 
men,  the  French  army,  to  their  great  surprise,  remained 
immoveable.  Horses  and  horsemen  all  seemed  em  hanted 
or  dead  in  their  armour.  In  reality  diese  great  war-horses, 
under  the  weight  of  their  heavy  riders  and  of  their  huge 
caparisons  of  iron,  had  sunk  deeply  in  the  thick  clay  on 
which  they  stood  ;  they  were  so  firmly  fixed  that  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  they  disengaged  themselves  in  an  attempt 
to  advance.  But  their  advance  was  only  step  by  step.  The 
field  was  a  mere  swamp  of  tenacious  mud.  "  The  field  was 
soft  and  cut  up  by  the  horses ;  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
draw  one's  feet  out  of  the  ground,  so  soft  was  it.  Resides 
this,"  goes  on  the  historian,  Lefebvre,  "  the  French  were  so 
loaded  with  harness  that  they  could  not  go  forward.  In  the 
first  place,  they  were  burdened  with  steel  coats  of  mail  lung 
enough  to  reach  below  the  knees,  and  very  heavy,  and 
below  this  mail  they  had  harness  on  their  legs,  and  above 
it  harness  of  white,  and  helmets  atop  of  all.  Then  they 
were  so  crowded  together  that  none  could  lift  their  arms 
to  strike  the  enemy,  save  those  who  were  in  the  front  rank." 
Another  historian  on  the  English  side  tells  us  that  the 
French  were  arrayed  thirty-two  men  deep,  while  the  Eng- 
lish stood  but  four  men  deep.  This  enormous  depth 
of  the  French  column  was  useless,  for  almost  all  who  com- 
posed it  were  knights  and  horsemen,  and  the  bulk  of  them 
were  so  far  from  being  able  to  act  that  they  never  even  saw 
what  was  going  on  in  the  front ;  while  among  the  English 
every  man  had  his  share  in  the  action.  Of  the  fifty  thou- 
sand Frenchmen  in  fact  but  two  or  three  thousand  had  the 
power  actively  to  engage  with  the  eleven  thousand  English- 
men ;  or  at  least  might  have  had  the  power,  had  their  horses 
freed  themselves  from  the  mire. 


io  PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

To  rouse  these  sluggish  masses  to  action  the  English 
archers  discharged  thousands  of  arrows  right  at  their  faces. 
The  iron-clad  horsemen  bowed  their  heads,  or  the  arrows 
would  have  pierced  the  vizors  of  their  helmets.  Then,  on 
either  flank  of  the  army,  from  Tramecourt  and  from  Agin- 
court,  two  French  squadrons,  by  dint  of  hard  spurring,  got 
clumsily  into  motion,  and  came  on  headed  by  two  famous 
men  at  arms,  Messire  Cliquet  de  Brabant  and  Messire 
Guillaume  de  Sausure.  But  the  first  squadron,  which  came 
from  Tramecourt,  was  suddenly  riddled  by  the  fire  from  a 
body  of  archers  hidden  in  the  wood  on  its  flank ;  and 
neither  the  one  squadron  nor  the  other  ever  reached  the 
English  line.  In  fact,  of  twelve  hundred  men  who  chaiged 
but  a  hundred  and  twenty  managed  to  dash  themselves 
against  the  stakes  on  the  English  front.  The  bulk  had 
fallen  on  the  road,  men  and  horses,  as  they  floundered  in 
the  thick  mud.  And  well  had  it  been  had  all  fallen,  for 
those  whose  horses  were  wounded  could  no  longer  govern 
the  maddened  beasts,  and  they  turned  back  to  rush  on  the 
French  ranks.  Far  from  being  able  to  open  to  let  them 
pass,  the  advance-guard  was,  as  has  been  seen,  so  thickly 
massed  together  that  not  a  man  could  move  ;  and  one  may 
conceive  the  fearful  confusion  that  fell  on  the  serried  mass, 
the  frightened  horses  plunging  and  backing  through  it,  fling- 
ing down  their  riders,  or  crushing  them  into  a  mass  of 
clashing  iron.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  turmoil  that  the 
Englishmen  fell  on  them.  Quitting  their  front  of  stakes, 
throwing  down  bow  and  arrow,  they  came  on  at  their  ease, 
.hatchet  and  axe,  sword  or  loaded  club  in  hand,  to  hew  at 
the  vast  confused  heap  of  men  and  horses.  When,  in  all 
good  time,  they  had  finally  made  a  clearance  of  the  advance- 
guard,  they  advanced,  with  King  Henry  at  their  head,  on 
the  second  line  of  battle  behind  it.  It  was  perhaps  at  this 
moment   that   eighteen    French   gentlemen   fell  upon   the 


AGINCOURT.  1 1 

English  king.     They  had  vowed,  it  is  said,  to  die  or  to  dash 
his  crown  from  his  head;  one  of  them  tore  from  it  a  fleur- 
de-lys ;   but  all  perished  on   the  spot.      It  was   now  at  any 
rate  that  the  Duke  of  .Brabant  hurried  up  to  the  fight.      He 
came  late  enough;  but  he  was  still  in  good  time  to  die. 
The  brave  prince  had  left  his  men  behind  him  ;  he  had  not 
even  put  on  his  coat  of   arms ;    in  its  stead   he  took  his 
banner,  made  a  hole  in  it,  passed  his  head  through  the  hole, 
and  threw  himself  upon  the  English,  who  slew  him  in  an 
instant.     Only  the  rear-guard  now  remained,  and  this  soon 
melted  away.    A  crowd  of  French  knights,  dismounted,  but 
lifted  from  the  ground  by  their  serving  men,  had  withdrawn 
from  the  battle,  and  given  themselves  up  to  the  English. 
At  this  moment  word  was  brought  to   King  Henry  that  a 
body  of  Frenchmen  were  pillaging  his  baggage,  while  he 
saw  in  the  French  rear-guard  some  Bretons  or  Gascons,  who 
seemed  about  to  turn  back  upon  him.     Fear  seized  him  for 
a  moment,  especially  when  he  saw  his  followers  embarrassed 
with  so  great  a  number  of  captives ;  and  on  the  instant  he 
gave  orders  that  every  man  should  kill  his  prisoner.     Not  a 
man  obeyed.     These  soldiers  without  hose  or  shoes  saw  in 
their  hands  the  greatest  lords  of  France,  and  thought  their 
fortunes  already  made.      They  were  ordered  in  fact  to  ruin 
themselves.     Then  the  King  told  off  two  hundred  men  to 
serve  as  butchers.     It  was  an  awful  sight,  says  the  historian, 
to  see  these  poor  disarmed  folk,  to  whom  quarter  had  just 
been  given,  and  who  now   in  cold  blood  were  killed,   lie- 
headed,    cut    in    pieces!  ....  After  all,  the  alarm  w, 
false  one.     It  was  but  some  pillagers  of  the  neighbourhood, 
people  of  Agincourt,  who  in  spite  of  their  master,  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy,  had  profited  by  the  occasion.     He  punished 
them  severely,  although  they  had  drawn  from  the  spoil  a  rich 
swoid  for  his  son. 


12        FKOSK  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

III. 

JOAN  OF  ARC. 

GREEN. 

[The  victory  of  Agincourt  led  Henry  to  a  series  of  cam- 
paigns which  finally  laid  all  northern  France  at  his  feet. 
He  was  pushing  to  the  conquest  of  the  south  when  his 
sudden  death  left  the  crowns  of  France  and  England  to 
a  child,  Henry  the  Sixth  ;  and  the  factions  which  disputed 
for  power  in  his  name  long  hindered  his  brother,  the  Duke 
of  Bedford,  from  completing  his  work.  Meanwhile  France 
south  of  the  Loire  held  loyally  to  Charles  the  Seventh,  who 
was  not  crowned  as  King  but  known  as  the  Dauphin ; 
but  Charles  showed  as  yet  little  power  or  activity ;  and 
when  Bedford  at  last  sent  a  weak  force  to  besiege  Orleans, 
the  key  of  southern  France,  he  did  little  for  its  help. 
Help  came,  however,  from  a  peasant-maiden,  Jeanne 
Dare,  or  Joan  of  Arc] 

Jeanne  Darc  was  the  child  of  a  labourer  of  Domreiny, 
a  little  village  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Vaucouleurs  on  the 
borders  of  Lorraine  and  Champagne.  Just  without  the 
cottage  where  she  was  born  began  the  great  woods  of  the 
Vosges,  where  the  children  of  Domremy  drank  in  poetry 
and  legend  from  fairy  ring  and  haunted  well,  hung  their 
flower  garlands  on  the  sacred  trees,  and  sang  songs  to  the 
"good  people  "J  who  might  not  drink  of  the  fountain  be- 
cause of  their  sins.  Jeanne  loved  the  forest ;  its  birds  and 
beasts  came  lovingly  to  her  at  her  childish  call.  But  at 
home  men  saw  nothing  in  her  but  "  a  good  girl,  simple  and 
pleasant  in  her  ways,"  spinning  and  sewing  by  her  mother's 
side  while  the  other  girls  went  to  the  fields ;  tender  to  the 

1   The  Fairies. 


JOAN  OF  ARC. 

poor  and  sick,  t'oml  of  church,  and  listening  to  the  chun  h- 
bell  with  a  dreamy  passion  of  deUght  which  never  left  her. 
This  quiet  life  was  broken  by  the  storm  of  war  as  ii  at 
came  home  to  Domremy.  As  the  outcasts  and  wounded 
passed  by  the  little  village  the  young  peasant  girl  gave  them 
her  bed  and  nursed  them  in  their  sickness.  Her  whole 
nature  summed  itself  up  in  one  absorbing  passion  :  she 
'  had  pity,'  to  use  the  phrase  for  ever  on  her  lip,  '  on 
the  fair  realm  of  France.'  As  her  passion  grew  she  re- 
called old  prophecies  that  a  maid  from  the  Lorraine  border 
should  save  the  land  ;  she  saw  visions  ;  St.  Michael  appeared 
to  her  in  a  flood  of  blinding  light,  and  bade  her  go  to  the 
help  of  the  King  and  restore  to  him  his  realm.  "  Messire,'' 
answered  the  girl,  "  I  am  but  a  poor  maiden ;  I  know  not 
how  to  ride  to  the  wars,  or  to  lead  men-at-arms."  The 
archangel  returned  to  give  her  courage,  and  to  tell  her  of  "  the 
pity  "  that  there  was  in  heaven  for  the  fair  realm  of  France. 
The  girl  wept,  and  longed  that  the  angels  who  appeared 
to  her  would  carry  her  away,  but  her  mission  was  clear. 
It  was  in  vain  that  her  father  when  he  heard  of  her  purpose 
swore  to  drown  her  ere  she  should  go  to  the  field  with 
men-at-arms.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  priest,  the  wise 
people  of  the  village,  the  captain  of  Vaucouleurs,  doubted, 
and  refused  to  aid  her.  "  I  must  go  to  the  King,"  persisted 
the  peasant  girl,  "  even  if  I  wear  my  limbs  to  the  very  knees." 
"  I  had  far  rather  rest  and  spin  by  my  mother's  side,"  .she 
pleaded  with  a  touching  pathos,  "  for  this  is  no  work  of  my 
choosing,  but  I  must  go  and  do  it,  for  my  Lord  wills  it." 
"  And  who,"  they  asked,  "  is  your  Lord  ?  "  "  He  is  God." 
Words  such  as  these  touched  the  rough  captain  at  last  :  he 
took  Jeanne  by  the  hand  and  swore  to  lead  her  to  the  King. 
She  reached  Chinon2  in  the  opening  of  March,  but  hen 

2  A  castle  south  of  the  Loire,  where  Charles  the  Seventh  held 

Ids  Court. 

8* 


i4        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

she  found  hesitation  and  doubt.  The  theologians  proved 
from  their  books  that  they  ought  ftot  to  believe  her.  "  There 
is  more  in  God's  book  than  in  yours,"  Jeanne  answered 
simply.  At  last  Charles  himself  received  her  in  the  midst 
of  a  throng  of  nobles  and  soldiers.  "Gentle  Dauphin," 
said  the  girl,  "  my  name  is  Jeanne  the  Maid.  The  Heavenly 
King  sends  me  to  tell  you  that  you  shall  be  anointed  and 
crowned  in  the  town  of  Rheims,3  and  you  shall  be  lieutenant 
of  the  Heavenly  King  who  is  the  King  of  France." 

Orleans  had  already  been  driven  by  famine  to  offers  of 
surrender  when  Jeanne  appeared  in  the  French  court,  and 
a  force  was  gathering  under  the  Count  of  Dunois  at  Blois 
for  a  final  effort  at  its  relief.  It  was  at  the  head  of  this  force 
that  Jeanne  placed  herself.  The  girl  was  in  her  eighteenth 
year,  tall,  finely  formed,  with  all  the  vigour  and  activity  of 
her  peasant  rearing,  able  to  stay  from  dawn  to  nightfall  on 
horseback  without  meat  or  drink.  As  she  mounted  her 
charger,  clad  in  white  armour  from  head  to  foot,  with  the 
great  white  banner  studded  with  fleur-de-lys  waving  over 
her  head,  she  seemed  "  a  thing  wholly  divine,  whether  to 
see  or  hear."  The  ten  thousand  men-at-arms  who  followed 
her  from  Blois,  rough  plunderers  whose  only  prayer  was 
that  of  La  Hire,4  "  Sire  Dieu,  I  pray  you  to  do  for  La  Hire 
what  La  Hire  would  do  for  you,  were  you  captain-at-arms 
and  he  God,"  left  off  their  oaths  and  foul  living  at  her 
word  and  gathered  round  the  altars  on  their  march.  Her 
shrewd  peasant  humour  helped  her  to  manage  the  wild 
soldiery,  and  her  followers  laughed  over  their  camp-fires  at 
an  old  warrior  who  had  been  so  puzzled  by  her  prohibition 
of  oaths  that  she  suffered  him  still  to  swear  by  his  baton. 
For  in  the  midst  of  her  enthusiasm  her  good  sense  never 

3  The  crowning-place  of  the  French  kings,  which  was  now  in 
the  hands  of  the  foes  of  Charles,  so  that  he  could  not  be  crow /tea 
there.  4  A  noted  captain  of  the  time. 


JuAN  OF  ARC.  15 

left  her.  The  people  crowded  round  her  as  she  md.-  along, 
praying  her  to  work  miracles,  and   bringing    m  and 

chaplets  to  be  blest  by  her  touch.  "  Touch  them  your- 
self," she  said  to  an  old  I  >ame  Margaret  ;  "  your  touch  will 
be  just  as  good  as  mine." 

But  her  faith  in  her  mission  remained  as  firm  as  ever. 
"The  Maid  prays  and  requires  you,"  she  wrote  to  Bed- 
ford, "  to  work  no  more  distraction  in  France  but  to  come 
in  her  company  to  rescue  the  Holy  Sepulchre  from  the 
Turk."  "  I  bring  you,"  she  told  Dunois,  when  he  sallied 
out  of  Orleans  to  meet  her  after  her  two  days'  march 
from  Blois,  "  I  bring  you  the  best  aid  ever  sent  to  any  one, 
the  aid  of  the  King  of  Heaven."  The  besiegers  looked 
on  overawed  as  she  entered  Orleans  and,  riding  round 
the  walls,  bade  the  people  shake  off  their  fear  of  the 
forts  which  surrounded  them.  Her  enthusiasm  drove  the 
hesitating  generals  to  engage  the  handful  of  besiegers,  and 
the  enormous  disproportion  of  forces  at  once  made  itself 
felt.  Fort  after  fort  was  taken  till  only  the  strongest  re- 
mained, and  then  the  council  of  war  resolved  to  adjourn  the 
attack.  "You  have  taken  your  counsel,"  replied  Jeanne 
"and  I  take  mine."  Placing  herself  at  the  head  of  the 
men-at-arms,  she  ordered  the  gates  to  be  thrown  open,  and 
led  them  against  the  fort.  Few  as  they  were,  the  English 
fought  desperately,  and  the  Maid,  who  had  fallen  wounded 
while  endeavouring  to  scale  its  walls,  was  borne  into  a  vii  e- 
yard,  while  Dunois  sounded  the  retreat.  "  Wait  a  while  1" 
the  girl  imperiously  pleaded,  "  eat  and  drink !  so  soon  as 
my  standard  touches  the  wall  you  shall  enter  the  fort."  It 
touched,  and  the  assailants  burst  in.  On  the  next  day  the 
siege  was  abandoned,  and  on  the  eighth  oi  May  the  force 
which  had  conducted  it  withdrew  in  good  order  to  the 
noith. 

In  the  midst  of  her  triumph  Jeanne  still  remained  the 


r6        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

pure,  tender-hearted  peasant  girl  of  the  Vosges.  Her  fns! 
visit  as  she  entered  Orleans  was  to  the  great  church,  and 
there,  as  she  knelt  at  mass,  she  wept  in  such  a  passion  of 
devotion  that  "  all  the  people  wept  with  her."  Her  tears 
burst  forth  afresh  at  her  first  sight  of  bloodshed  and  of  the 
corpses  strewn  over  the  battle-field.  She  grew  frightened 
at  her  first  wound,  and  only  threw  off  the  touch  of  womanly 
tear  when  she  heard  the  signal  for  retreat.  Yet  more 
womanly  was  the  purity  with  which  she  passed  through  the 
brutal  warriors  of  a  mediaeval  camp.  It  was  her  care  for 
her  honour  that  led  her  to  clothe  herself  in  a  soldier's 
dress.  She  wept  hot  tears  when  told  of  the  foul  taunts  of 
the  English,  and  called  passionately  on  God  to  witness  her 
chastity.  "  Yield  thee,  yield  thee,  Glasdale,"  she  cried  to 
the  English  warrior  whose  insults  had  been  foulest  as  he 
fell  wounded  at  her  feet,  "  you  called  me  harlot  !  I  have 
great  pity  on  your  soul."  But  all  thought  of  herself  was 
lost  in  the  thought  of  her  mission.  It  was  in  vain  that  the 
French  generals  strove  to  remain  on  the  Loire.  Jeanne  was 
resolute  to  complete  her  task,  and  while  the  English  re- 
mained panic-stricken  around  Paris  she  brought  Charles  to 
march  upon  Rheims,  the  old  crowning-place  of  the  Kings 
of  France.  Troyes  and  Chalons  submitted  as  she  reached 
them,  Rheims  drove  out  the  English  garrison  and  threw 
open  her  gates  to  the  King. 


IV. 

BATTLE  OF  TEWKESBURY. 

KIRK. 

[Joan  fell  at  last  into  the  hands  of  her  enemies  and  was 
burned  as  a  witch.  But  the  impulse  she  had  given  roused 
France ;  and  the  English  were  driven  at  last  not  only  from 


BATTLE  OF  TEWKESBURY.  ,7 

their  recent  conquests  but  from  their  own  possession  df 
Aquitaine.  Of  all  they  had  held  in  Prance  Calais  only 
remained  to  them.  The  shame  of  these  defeats  height- 
ened the  disorder  in   England  itself,  which  sprang   from 

the  imbecility  of  Henry  the  Sixth,  and  the  strife  of  fac- 
tions about  his  throne.  At  last  the  Duke  of  York,  who 
descended  from  an  elder  brother  of  John  of  Gaunt,  dis- 
puted Henry's  right  to  the  crown,  and  claimed  to  be  ki 
With  this  claim  began  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  as  they 
were  called,  the  Red  Rose  being  the  badge  of  Lancaster, 
the  White  Rose  of  York.  The.  Duke,  after  some  suc- 
cesses, was  defeated  and  slain  ;  but  his  son,  aided  by  the 
Earl  of  Warwick,  the  mightiest  of  the  English  nobles, 
drove  Henry  from  the  throne  and  himself  mounted  it  as 
Edward  the  Fourth.  Quarrels  however  sprang  up  between 
Edward  and  Warwick ;  and  at  last  Warwick  was  driven 
into  exile.  He  returned  to  England,  and  Edward  had 
himself  to  fly  over  sea,  while  Henry  the  Sixth  was  once 
more  set  on  the  throne ;  but  a  fresh  landing  of  Edward 
in  Yorkshire  was  followed  by  the  defeat  and  death  of 
Warwick,  and  by  a  new  deposition  of  Henry.  At  the 
moment  of  Warwick's  overthrow,  Henry's  wife,  Margaret 
of  Anjou,  landed  on  the  southern  coast  with  her  son  and 
a  body  of  French  troops ;  and  Edward  at  once  marched 
against  her.  Margaret's  aim  was  to  gather  an  army,  and 
to  do  this  she  pushed  through  the  western  counties  up 
the  Severn,  while  Edward  hurried  in  pursuit.] 

On  the  morning  of  Thursday,  the  second  of  May,1  the 
Yorkists  2  were  at  Malmesbury,  the  Lancastrians3  at  Bristol. 
A  line  drawn  between  these  two  places  would  represent  the 
southern  base  of  a  triangle  of  which  the  northern  apex 
might  be  found  either  at  Gloucester,  at  Tewkesbury,  or 
at  Worcester,  according  as  the  lines  of  march  represented 
by  the  sides  were  more  or  less  convergent.  Bui  since  the 
more  westerly  line  was  somewhat  longer  than  the  other-,  it 
was  necessary  for  the  Lancastrians  to  gain  at  least  a  day's 

1  1 47 1.  2   The  army  of  Edward  the  Fourth.  3   1 

army  of  Margaret. 
PART    II. 


iS         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

start  in  advance.  To  effect  this  object  they  again  made  a 
feint  of  offering  battle,  sending  a  small  party  to  Sodhury, 
midway  between  Bristol  and  Malmesbury,  to  fix  upon  con- 
venient ground  for  receiving  the  attack.  Again  Edward 
allowed  himself  to  be  momentarily  deceived.  He  marched 
to  Sodbury  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  and  having 
selected  his  position,  remained  there  during  the  night. 
Early  in  the  morning,  thanks  to  the  vigilance  of  his  spies, 
he  discovered  his  error.  The  Lancastrians  having  travelled 
all  night  up  the  bank  of  the  Severn,  were  now  at  Berkeley, 
far  on  the  road  to  Gloucester.  To  intercept  them  with  his 
army  before  they  should  reach  this  latter  point  was  no 
longer  possible  ;  and  if  they  gained  possession  of  the  town,4 
which  was  strongly  fortified,  they  would  be  sheltered  from 
an  immediate  attack,  and  would  hold  an  excellent  position  for 
awaiting  the  expected  succours  from  Wales  and  other  quarters. 
There  was  still  time  however  for  a  well-mounted  party  to 
carry  notice  of  the  enemy's  approach  to  Richard  Beau- 
champ,  the  newly  appointed  governor  of  Gloucester  castle  ; 
and  having  despatched  this  warning  the  King  set  out  with 
his  whole  army,  by  the  nearest  route  to  Tewkesbury, 
whither  the  Lancastrians,  if  they  failed  to  enter  Gloucester, 
would  necessarily  proceed,  and  where  he  trusted  to,  come 
up  with  them. 

Thus  the  two  hostile  armies  were  now  marching  in  the 
same  direction,  on  concentric  lines,  and  the  trial  was  one 
of  endurance  and  of  speed.  The  day  was  "  rigkt  an  hot" 
one  for  the  season  ;  on  neither  route  were  there  any  villages  ; 
and  the  soldiers  of  Edward  travelled  more  than  thirty  miles 
without  any  other  refreshment  for  themselves  or  their  horses 
than  was  afforded  by  the  waters  of  a  ?lngle  brook,  "  where 
was  full  little  relief,  it  was  so  soon  troubled  with  the 
carriages   that  had   passed  it."      They    had,    however,   two 

4  Of  Gloucester. 


BATTLE  OF  TEWKESBURY, 


1  I 


advantages  over  the  enemy.  A  much  larger  proportion  <>f 
their  force  consisted  of  cavalry,  and  their  course  la) 
the  Cotswold,  an  open  and  level,  though  elevated  tract  of 
country,  while  that  of  the  Lancastrians  led  through  lai 
and  woods,  which  offered  many  obstructions  to  their  pro- 
gress. They  lost  some  time  moreover  in  a  vain  attemj  t 
to  enter  Gloucester,  where,  though  the  inhabitants  were 
friendly  to  them,  the  governor  was  successful  in  preventing 
their  admission. 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  day  the  distance  between 
them  and  their  pursuers  was  rapidly  diminished,  ami  the 
enemy's  scouts  began  to  swarm  along  their  flank.  Neverthe- 
less, they  reached  Tewkesbury  somewhat  earlier  in  the 
evening  than  Edward  arrived  at  Cheltenham,  then  a  mere 
village  five  miles  to  the  south-east.  But  all  hope  of  making 
good  their  escape  was  now  past.  They  had  been  on  the 
road  the  whole  of  the  preceding  night,  had  marched  since 
the  morning  a  distance  of  thirty-six  miles,  and  were  in- 
capable of  any  further  advance  till  thoroughly  refreshed  by 
food  and  sleep.  Here,  therefore,  they  must  stand  at  bay  ; 
and  their  leaders  made  choice  of  a  position  well  adapted  to 
tneir  purpose  on  the  hills  sloping  southward  from  the  town. 
The  ancient  Saxon  abbey,  with  its  magnificent  Norman 
church,  was  "  at  their  backs  ;  afore  them,  and  upon  every 
hand  of  them,  foul  lanes  and  deep  dikes,  and  many  hedges, 
with  hills  and  valleys,  a  right  evil  place  to  approach  as 
could  well  have  been  devised." 

Being  apprised  of  the  enemy's  intention  to  receive  battle, 
Edward,  after  a  short  delay  at  Cheltenham,  led  his  arm) 
two  miles  further  towards  Tewkesbury,  and  halted  for  the 
night.  At  break  of  day  his  troops  were  again  under  anus. 
He  gave  the  command  of  the  vanguard  to  his  brother 
Richard,6  Duke  of  Gloucester,  then  only  nineteen  years  of 
5  Afh  rwarJs  Richard  ttie  Third. 


20        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

age ;  the  rear-guard  was  intrusted  to  Lord  Hastings ;  while 
tiie  rest  of  the  forces  were  led  by  the  king  in  person,  with 
the  exception  of  a  small  detachment  sent  forward  to  the 
edge  of  a  wood,  in  case  an  ambush  had  been  set  for  an 
assault  upon  his  flank.  Trumpets  were  blown,  banners 
unfurled,  and  the  aid  and  protection  of  the  Almighty,  the 
Virgin  Mother,  the  blessed  martyr  Saint  George,  and  all  the 
Saints,  solemnly  invoked.  The  cannon  then  opened  their 
fire  ;  and  the  whole  army  advanced  to  the  attack,  the  lines 
of  bowmen  in  front  sending  forth  a  continual  flight  of 
arrows.  The  Lancastrians,  had  they  been  content  to  avail 
themselves  of  the  advantages  of  their  position,  waiting  till 
their  assailants  had  crossed  the  fences  and  ditches  and  begun 
to  gather  on  the  rising  ground,  might  then  by  a  vigorous 
repulse  have  thrown  them  into  confusion,  where  confusion 
must  have  ended  in  rout.  But  they  were  now  to  experience 
the  usual  ill-effects  of  a  divided  command.  It  was  easy  for 
the  different  chiefs  to  stimulate  by  their  exhortations  and 
example  the  courage  of  their  men  ;  but  there  was  no  one 
to  direct  or  restrain  the  ardour  of  the  chiefs.  The  Prince 
of  Wales6  was  too  young  to  exercise  any  real  authority. 
Yet  his  presence,  and  that  of  his  mother,7  who  had  ridden 
through  the  ranks  to  animate  the  spirits  of  the  troops,  and 
who  did  not  retire  from  the  field  till  the  battle  had  begun, 
was  perhaps  the  reason  for  not  investing  any  subject  leader 
with  the  sole  command. 

However  this  may  have  been,  the  Duke  of  Somerset, 
whose  force  was  posted  in  the  front,  led  away  either  by  his 
own  impatient  valour  or  by  the  restlessness  of  his  men 
under  the  fire  of  the  artillery  and  the  archers,  determined 
to  leave  his  vantage-ground  and  come  at  once  to  an  en- 
counter with  the  enemy.  He  is  even  said  to  have  cloven 
with  his  battle-axe  the  skull  of  one  of  his  associates,  Lord 

6  T/te  son  of  Henry  the  Sixth.  "  Margaret  of  Atijoiu 


CAXTON.  21 

Wenlock,  who  opposed  this  rash  design.  Descending  by  a 
slanting  course  through  '"certain  paths  and  ways"  w  h 
he  had  before  reconnoitred,  he  entered  an  enclosed  field, 
and  falling  suddenly  on  one  end  of  the  enemy's  lines 
gained  a  slight  advantage.  But  the  Yorkists  speedily  rallied. 
Fresh  bodies  came  pouring  to  their  aid.  The  assailants 
were  pushed  back  up  the  hill,  and  were  now,  in  their  turn, 
taken  in  flank  by  the  party  which,  as  already  mentioned, 
had  been  detached  by  Edward  to  guard  against  a  surprise. 
They  were  soon  in  complete  disorder.  The  trees  and 
bushes,  the  fences,  the  obscure  paths,  which  had  favoured 
the  suddenness  of  their  advance,  became  obstacles  to  their 
retreat.  They  threw  away  their  arms  and  fled  in  different 
directions.  But  without  spending  time  in  the  pursuit, 
the  king,  uniting  all  his  forces  in  a  solid  mass,  charged, 
with  resistless  vigour,  the  main  body  of  the  Lancastrians, 
whose  already  wavering  lines  were  at  once  broken  by  the 
shock.  "  Such  as  abode  handstrokes  were  slain  incon- 
tinent." But  more  were  slaughtered  in  the  chase,  "  flying 
towards  the  town,  to  the  abbey,  to  the  church ; "  while 
not  a  few,  hotly  pursued,  were  drowned  in  a  mill-stream 
that  flowed  through  a  neighbouring  meadow,  which  has 
retained  to  this  day  the  name  of  the  "Bloody  Field." 

V. 

CAXTON. 

GREEN. 

[With  the  battle  of  Tewkesbury  the  cause  of  the  House  of 
Lancaster  was  finally  lost.  Margaret  was  taken  prisoner; 
her  son  was  slain  ;  Henry  the  Sixth  himself  died  soon 
after  in  the  Tower.  From  this  moment  Edward's  reign 
was  a  peaceful  one.  He  was  an  able  ruler  ;  but  the  chief 
glory  of  his  reign  springs  from  the  introduction  during  it 
into  England  of  the  art  of  printing  by  William  Caxton.] 


ii         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

It  was  probably  at  the  press  of  Colard  Mansion,  in  a 
little  room  over  the  porch  of  St.  Donat's  at  Bruges,1  that 
William  Caxton  learned  the  art  which  he  was  the  first  to 
introduce  into  England.  A  Kentish  boy  by  birth,  but 
apprenticed  to  a  London  mercer,  Caxton  had  already  spent 
thirty  years  of  his  manhood  in  Flanders  as  Governor  of  the 
English  gild  of  Merchant  Adventurers  there  when  we  find 
him  engaged  as  copyist  in  the  service  of  Edward's  sister, 
Duchess  Margaret  of  Burgundy.2  But  the  tedious  process 
of  copying  was  soon  thrown  aside  for  the  new  art  which 
Colard  Mansion  had  introduced  into  Bruges.  "  For  as 
much  as  in  the  writing  of  the  same,"  Caxton  tells  us  in  the 
preface  to  his  first  printed  work,  the  Tales  of  Troy,  "  my 
pen  is  worn,  my  hand  is  weary  and  not  steadfast,  mine  eyes 
dimmed  with  over  much  looking  on  the  white  paper,  and 
my  courage  not  so  prone  and  ready  to  labour  as  it  hath 
been,  and  that  age  creepeth  on  me  daily  and  feebleth  all  the 
body,  and  also  because  I  have  promised  to  divers  gentlemen 
and  to  my  friends  to  address  to  them  as  hastily  as  I  might 
the  said  book,  therefore  I  have  practised  and  learned  at 
my  great  charge  and  dispense  to  ordain  this  said  book  in 
print  after  the  manner  and  form  as  ye  may  see,  and  is  not 
written  with  pen  and  ink  as  other  books  be,3  to  the  end  that 
every  man  may  have  them  at  once,  for  all  the  books  of  this 
story  here  emprynted  as  ye  see  were  begun  in  one  day  and 
also  finished  in  one  day." 

The  printing-press  was  the  precious  freight  he  brought 
back  to  England  in  1476,  after  an  absence  of  five-and-thirty 
years.  Through  the  next  fifteen,  at  an  age  when  other  men 
look   for  ease  and  retirement,  we   see  him   plunging  with 

1  In  Flanders.  2  The  wife  of  Duke  Charles  the  Bold. 

3  Till  now  all  books  had  been  written  by  hand;  hence  they  were 
called  manuscripts.  This  process  was  tedious  and  costly.;  and 
so  books  were  scarce  and  dear. 


CAX'ION.  21 

characteristic  energy  into  Ins  new  occupation.  His  "red 
pale,"  or  heraldic  shield,  marked  with  a  red  bar  down  the 
middle,    invited  buyers  to  the  press  he  established   in   the 

Almonry  at  Westminster,  a  little  enclosure  containing  a 
chapel  and  almshouses  near  the  west  front  of  the  chui 
where  the  alms  of  the  abbey  were  distributed  to  the  poor. 
"  If  it  please  any  man,  spiritual  or  temporal,"  runs  his  ad- 
vertisement, "  to  buy  any  pyes4  of  two  or  three  commemora- 
tions of  Salisbury  all  emprynted  after  the  form  of  the  present 
letter,  which  be  well  and  truly  correct,  let  him  come  to 
Westminster  into  the  Almonry  at  the  red  pale,  and  he  shall 
have  them  good  chepe."  Caxton  was  a  practical  man  of 
business,  as  this  advertisement  shows,  no  rival  of  the  Vene- 
tian Aldi,  or  of  the  classical  printers  of  Rome,  but  resolved 
to  get  a  living  from  his  trade,  supplying  priests  with  service 
books  and  preachers  with  sermons,  furnishing  the  clerk  with 
his  "Golden  Legend  "  and  knight  and  baron  with  "joyous 
and  pleasant  histories  of  chivalry." 

But  while  careful  to  win  his  daily  bread,  he  found  time  to 
do  much  for  what  of  higher  literature  lay  fairly  to  hand.  He 
printed  all  the  English  poetry  of  any  moment  which  was  then 
in  existence.  His  reverence  for  that  "  worshipful  man,  Geof- 
frey Chaucer,"  who  "ought  to  be  eternally  remembered," 
is  shown  not  merely  by  his  edition  of  the  "  Canterbury 
Tales,"  but  by  his  reprint  of  them  when  a  purer  text  of 
the  poem  offered  itself.  The  poems  of  Lydgate  and  Gower 
were  added  to  those  of  Chaucer.  The  Chronicle  of  Brut 
and  Higden's  "  Polychronicon "  were  the  only  available 
works  of  an  historical  character  then  existing  in  the  English 
tongue,  and  Caxton  not  only  printed  them  but  himself 
continued  the  latter  up  to  his  own  time.  A  translation  of 
Boethius,  a  version  of  the  Eneid  from  the  French,  and  a 

4  Books  in  small  type. 


24         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

tract  or  two  of  Cicero,   were  the   stray   first-fruits    of    th^ 
classical  press  in  England. 

Busy  as  was  Caxton's  printing-press,  he  was  even  busier 
as  a  translator  than  as  a  printer.     More  than  four  thousand 
of  his  printed  pages  are  from  works  of  his  own  rendering. 
The  need  of  these  translations  shows  the  popular  drift  of 
literature   at  the  time  ;  but  keen  as  the  demand  seems  to 
have  been,  there  is  nothing  mechanical  in  the  temper  with 
which    Caxton  prepared   to    meet    it.     A  natural,    simple- 
hearted  taste  and  enthusiasm,  especially  for  the  style  and 
forms    of    language,    breaks    out   in   his    curious   prefaces. 
"  Having  no  work  in  hand,"  he  says  in  the  preface  to  his 
Eneid,   "  I  sitting  in  my  study  where  as  lay  many  divers 
pamphlets  and  books,  happened  that  to  my  hand  came  a 
little   book  in  French,   which  late    was   translated    out    of 
Latin  by   some   noble    clerk    of    France — which   book   is 
named  Eneydos,  and  made  in   Latin   by  that  noble   poet 
and  great  clerk  Vergyl — in  which  book  I  had  great  pleasure 
by   reason   of  the  fair  and   honest  termes  and  wordes  in 
French  which  I  never  saw  to-fore-like,5  none  so  pleasant  nor 
so  well  ordered,  which  book  as  me  seemed  should  be  much 
requisite  for  noble  men  to  see,  as  well  for  the  eloquence  as 
for  the  histories ;  and  when  I  had  advised  me  to  this  said 
book  I  deliberated  and  concluded  to  translate  it  into  English, 
and  forthwith  took  a  pen  and  ink  and  wrote  a  leaf  or  twain." 
But  the  work  of  translation  involved  a  choice  of  English 
which  made  Caxton's  work  important  in  the  history  of  our 
language.     He  stood  between  two   schools  of  translation, 
that  of  French  affectation  and  English  pedantry.     It  was  a 
moment  when  the  character  of  our  literary  tongue  was  being 
settled,  and  it  is  curious  to  see  in  his  own  words  the  struggle 
over  it  which  was  going  on  in  Caxton's  time.     "  Some  honest 
and  great  clerks  have  been  with  me  and  desired  me  to  write 

5  Before. 


CAXTON.  ag 

the  most  curious  terms  that  I  could  find  ;  "  on  the  other  hand, 
"some  gentlemen  of  late  blamed  me,  saying  that  in  my  trans- 
lations I  had  over  many  curious  terms  which  could  nut  be 
understood  of  common  people,  and  desired  me  to  use  old 
and  homely  terms  in  my  translations."  "  Fain  would  I 
please  every  man,"  comments  the  good-humoured  printer, 
but  his  sturdy  sense  saved  him  alike  from  the  tempta 
tions  of  the  court  and  the  schools.  His  own  taste  pointed 
to  English,  but  "  to  the  common  terms  that  be  daily 
used "  rather  than  to  the  English  of  his  antiquarian 
advisers.  "I  took  an  old  book  and  read  therein,  and 
certainly  the  English  was  so  rude  and  broad  I  could  not  well 
understand  it,"  while  the  Old-English  charters  which  the 
Abbot  of  Westminster  lent  as  models  from  the  archives  of 
his  house  seemed  "  more  like  to  Dutch6  than  to  English." 

To  adopt  current  phraseology  however  was  by  no  means 
easy  at  a  time  when  even  the  speech  of  common  talk  was 
in  a  state  of  rapid  flux.  "  Our  language  now  used  varieth 
far  from  that  which  was  used  and  spoken  when  I  was  born." 
Not  only  so,  but  the  tongue  of  each  shire  was  still  peculiar 
to  itself  and  hardly  intelligible  to  men  of  another  county. 
"  Common  English  that  is  spoken  in  one  shire  varieth  from 
another  so  much,  that  in  my  days  happened  that  certain 
merchants  were  in  a  ship  in  Thames  for  to  have  sailed  over 
the  sea  into  Zealand,  and  for  lack  of  wind  they  tarried 
at  Foreland  7  and  went  on  land  for  to  refresh  them.  And 
one  of  them,  named  Sheffield,  a  mercer,  came  into  a  house 
and  asked  for  meat,  and  especially  he  asked  them  after  eggs. 
And  the  good  wife  answered  that  she  could  speak  no 
French.  And  the  merchant  was  angry,  for  he  also  could 
speak  no  French,  but  would  have  eggs,  but  she  understood 
him  not.  And  then  at  last  another  said  he  would  have 
eyren,  then  the  good  wife  said  she  understood  him  well. 
6  i.e.  German.  7  On  the  coast  of  Kent. 


26        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Lo  !  what  should  a  man  in  these  days  now  write,"  adds 
the  puzzled  printer,  "  eggs  or  eyren  ?  certainly  it  is  hard 
to  please  every  man  by  cause  of  diversity  and  change  of 
language."  His  own  mother-tongue  too  was  that  of  "  Kent 
in  the  Weald,  where  I  doubt  not  is  spoken  as  broad  and 
rude  English  as  in  any  place  in  England  ; "  and  coupling 
this  with  his  long  absence  in  Flanders  we  can  hardly 
wonder  at  the  confession  he  makes  over  his  first  transla- 
tion, that  "  when  all  these  things  came  to  fore  me,  after 
that  I  had  made  and  written  a  five  or  six  quires,  I  fell  in 
despair  of  this  work,  and  purposed  never  to  have  continued 
therein,  and  the  quires  laid  apart,  and  in  two  years  after 
laboured  no  more  in  this  work." 


VI. 

BATTLE  OF  BOSWORTH. 

YONGE. 

[Caxton's  work  shows  how  fast  England  was  progressing  in 
knowledge  amidst  all  the  troubles  of  the  time.  But  the 
Wars  of  the  Roses  were  still  not  at  an  end.  At  Ed  .vard 
the  Fourth's  death  his  brother  murdered  Edward's  sons 
and  seized  the  throne  as  Richard  the  Third.  He  was  at  first 
popular,  but  his  cruelty  and  faithlessness  soon  estranged 
men  from  him ;  and  Henry  Tudor,  who  had  inherited 
the  claims  of  the  House  of  Lancaster,  landed  in  Wales,  to 
dispute  the  crown,  and  boldly  marched  on  London. 
Richard,  suspicious  of  the  treachery  which  was  to  ruin  him, 
marched  to  intercept  Henry,  and  moved  from  Leicester 
on  Bosworth  Field  where  he  encountered  his  rival.] 

Richard  had  ridden  out  of  Leicester  in  the  same  state 
and  splendour  in  which  he  had  entered  it,  wearing  his 
crown  on  the  helmet  of  a  rich  suit  of  steel  armour  that 


BATTLE  OF  BOSWORTH.  27 

lie  had  first  worn  at  Tewkesburyj  and  passing  on  to  Mir- 
wall  Abbey,  encamped  upon  a  hill  called  Anbeam,  over- 
looking a  broad  extent  of  open  ground,  called  Redmoor, 
not  far  from  the  town  of  Market-Bosworth.  It  was  about 
two  miles  long  and  one  mile  broad,  intersected  by  a  tl 
wood,  and  bounded  on  the  south  by  a  little  stream,  on  the 
north  by  rising  ground,  and  by  a  swamp  called  Amyon  I 
Richard  was  to  the  west,  Henry  to  the  east.  Restless  and 
distrustful,  Richard  rose  at  midnight,  wandered  alone  thr- 
his  outposts,  found  a  sentinel  slumbering,  and  stabbed  him  to 
the  heart  as  he  lay,  then  returned  to  endeavour  to  recruit 
himself  by  sleep  for  the  next  day;  but  he  was  awake  again, 
long  before  the  chaplains  were  ready  to  say  Mass,  or  the 
attendants  to  bring  breakfast;  and  he  told  his  servants  of 
the  sentry's  fate,  grimly  saying,  "I  found  him  asleep,  and 
have  left  him  as  I  found  him."  No  thought  of  mercy  was 
in  the  mind  of  the  man  bold  in  civil  war,  whose  early  re<  ol- 
lections  were  of  Wakefield  and  Towton,  and  whose  maiden 
sword  had  been  fleshed  at  Barnet.1  He  only  said  that,  go  the 
battle  as  it  might,  England  would  suffer ;  "  from  Lancaster 
to  Shrewsbury  he  would  leave  none  alive,  knight  or  squire  ; 
and  from  Holyhead  to  St.  David's,  where  were  castles  and 
towers  should  all  be  parks  and  fields.  All  should  repent 
that  ever  they  rose  against  their  king :  and  if  Richmond 
triumphed,  the  Lancastrians  would  of  course  take  a  bloody 
vengeance." 

One  strange  episode  is  said  to  have  occupied  Richard  on 
that  morning  of  doom.  He  had  acknowledged  two  illegiti- 
mate children,  John  and  Katharine,  whom  he  had  brought 
up  with  the  young  Prince  of  Wales  ;  he  had  knighted  the  one 
and  given  the  other  in  marriage  to  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon  ; 

1  His  father  had  been  slain  in  the  Battle  of  Wakefield;  his 
brother  Edward  set  on  the  throne  in  the  bloody  fight  (f Towton  ; 
Warwick  overthrown  at  Barnet, 


28        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

but  he  had  yet  another,  named  Richard.  This  young  boy 
was  brought  to  the  royal  tent  at  that  moment,  and  heard 
for  the  first  time  that  the  pale,  haggard,  agitated  man,  small, 
slight,  and  deformed,  yet  whose  dark  eyes  flashed  with  in- 
domitable fierceness  and  pride  as  he  donned  the  helmet 
with  its  regal  crown,  was  his  father  !  He  was  too  young  for 
the  battle,  and  Richard  bade  him  remain  on  the  hill,  and 
watch,  so  as  to  escape  if  he  saw  the  white  boar  and  the 
white  rose  2  give  way. 

Anxious  tidings  kept  on  coming  in.  The  duke  of  Nor- 
folk brought  in  a  paper  he  had  found  pinned  to  his  tent  in 
the  morning,  bearing  the  lines — 

"  Jockey  of  Norfolk,  be  not  too  bold, 

For  Dickon  thy  master  is  bought  and  sold  ; 

and  when,  thus  rendered  even  more  anxious,  Richard  sent 
to  command  the  personal  attendance  of  Lord  Stanley3  and 
his  brother  William,  they  flatly  refused  to  come.  There- 
upon he  gave  instant  orders  to  strike  off  young  Stanley's 
head  f  but  the  opposite  army  already  showed  signs  of  move- 
ment, and  the  execution  was  deferred. 

Richard  then  arrayed  his  men.  His  army  seems  to  have 
numbered  about  16,000,  and  he  decided  on  extending  the 
vanguard  to  the  utmost,  so  as  if  possible  to  outflank  and 
enwrap  the  enemy.  In  their  centre  he  placed  a  dense  body 
of  archers,  and  amongst  them  seven  score  guns  called  sar- 
gents,  chained  and  locked  in  a  row,  behind  a  trench,  with 
the  men  who  knew  how  to  use  harquebuses  and  morris-pikes 

2  The  white  boar  was  Richard'1 s  own  badge;  the  white  rose  the 
badge  of  the  House  of  York.  3  Both  Richard  and  Henry 

hoped  for  Lord  Stanley  s  aid.  He  had  married  Richmond' ' s 
mother;  but  he  had  been  loaded  with  honours  by  Richard.  His 
choice  was  in  the  end  to  turn  the  battle,  as  he  led  a  large  force  to 
the  field.  *  Lord  Stanley's  son,  Lord  Strange,  was  kept  by 

Richard  as  1  hostage  for  hisfathet  's  loyally. 


BATTLE  01-   BOSWORTH.  29 

also  stationed  round  them,  all  guarded  by  a  trench.  This 
was  under  the  command  of  Norfolk  ;  the  second  line  under 
that  of  Northumberland  ;5  and  Richard  himself  took  charge 
of  a  body  of  troops  formed  into  a  dense  square,  with  wings  of 
horsemen.  Henry,  meantime,  was  almost  as  uneasy  about 
the  Stanleys  as  Richard  himself,  for  neither  did  they  obey 
his  summons  ;  and  without  their  8,000,  his  force  was  no  more 
than  5,000.  He  formed  this  little  troop  into  three  lines, 
spreading  them  as  far  as  possible,  giving  the  centre  to  the 
experienced  Earl  of  Oxford,  the  right  wing  to  Sir  Gilbert 
Talbot,  the  left  to  Sir  John  Savage.  He  rode  through  the 
army,  giving  them  comfortable  words — entirely  armed,  all 
save  his  helmet ;  and  the  long  golden  hair,  that  witnessed 
to  his  Plantagenet  ancestry,  flowing  down  to  his  shoulders. 
The  soldiers  closed  their  helmets  and  shook  their  bills  ;  the 
archers  strung  their  bows  and  "  frushed  "  their  arrows.  Each 
side  stood  ready  for  the  last  of  the  hundred  battles  of  the 
Plantagenets. 

Richmond  moved  first,  so  as  to  bring  the  right  flank  of 
his  army  alongside  of  the  swamp,  and  prevent  Richard's 
long  line  from  closing  upon  that  side,  and  besides  so  as  to 
bring  the  August  sun  on  the  backs  instead  of  the  faces  of 
his  men.  They  seem  to  have  waited  for  a  charge  from  the 
enemy ;  but  as  none  was  made,  Oxford  resolved  to  make 
a  sudden  and  furious  dash  at  the  centre,  where  Norfolk  was 
in  command.  The  fighting  was  hot  and  vehement,  and  the 
small  band  of  the  Lancastrians  must  have  been  beaten  off, 
but  that  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  in  the  second  line, 
never  stirred  to  the  aid  of  Norfolk.  The  Duke  went  down, 
his  son  the  Earl  of  Surrey  surrendered  ;  and  the  Mowbray 
banner  was  down. 

Richard,  maddened  at  the  sight,  and  seeing  half  his  army 

'   The    Earl    of  Northuviberland,    like    Lord  Stanley,   had 
•iiy  promised  aid  to  Hen>  v. 


30        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

standing  inactive,  determined  to  make  a  desperate  chwge 
down  the  hill  upon  Henry  himself;  but  fevered  with  the 
thirst  of  the  agitation  of  this  desperate  crisis,  he  flung  him- 
self down  and  took  a  long  draught  from  a  spring  that  still 
goes  by  the  name  of  Dick's  Well.     Then  he  put  his  lance 
in  the  rest,  and  together  with  his  most  attached  adherents 
— Lovell,    Catesby,  Ratcliffe,  Brackenbury,    Lord    Ferrers, 
and  Sir  Gervoise  Clifton,  and  their  nearest  followers,  putting 
their  lances  in  rest,  rode  headlong  upon  Richmond,  as  indeed 
the  last  hope  now  lay  in  the  destruction  of  the  individual 
rival.     Small  and  slender  as  Richard  was,  he  did  wonders  : 
he  drove  his  lance  through  the  armpit  of  Sir  William  Brandon, 
the  standard  bearer  ;  and  as  Sir  John  Cheyney,  a  man  of 
gigantic  frame,  threw  himself  in  front  of  Henry,  he  unhorsed 
him  at  the  first  shock.     But  others  had  closed  in  between  the 
two  rivals  ;  and  at  that  moment  a  knight — Catesby,  as  it  is 
said — pointed   out  to  the  King  that  Sir  William  Stanley, 
hitherto  inactive,  was  moving  with  his  3,000  men  to  crush 
him  completely,  and  tendering  to  him  a  swift  and  fresh  horse, 
advised  him  to  save  himself  by  flight,  saying,  "  I  hold  it  time 
for  ye  to  fly.     Yonder  Stanley,  his  dints  be  so  sore,  against 
them  no  man  may  stand.     Here  is  thy  horse  ;  another  day 
ye  may  worship  again."     "Never!"  cried  Richard.    ."Not 
one  foot  will  I  fly  so  long  as  breath  bides  within  my  breast. 
Here  will  I  end  all  my  battles  or  my  life.     I  will  die  King 
of  England." 

Down  came  cautious  Stanley,  and  the  fray  thickened. 
The  charge  had  been  but  just  in  time  to  save  Henry,  but 
when  it  came  it  was  overpowering.  "  Treason  !  treason  I 
treason  ! "  cried  Richard  at  every  blow ;  but  his  followers 
fell  around  him,  his  standard-bearer  clinging  to  his  standard 
and  waving  it  even  till  his  legs  were  cut  from  under  him, 
and  then  he  still  grasped  and  waved  it  till  his  last  gasp. 
Sir  Gervoise  Clifton  and  Sir  John  Byron,  near  neighbours, 


BATTLE  OF  BOS  WORTH,  3« 

bad,  ere  parting  to  take  opposite  sides,  agreed  that  whi<  h- 
ever  was  on  the  winning  party  should  protect  the  family  and 
estates  of  the  other.  As  Clifton  fell,  Byron  ran  to  sup; 
him  on  Ins  shield  ;  but  Clifton  could  only  murmur,  "  All  is 
over — remember  your  pledge/'  and  Byron  did  faithfully 
remember  it.  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury  nut  a  knight  named 
Hungeiford,  who  had  gone  over  to  the  Tudor  on  the  man  h, 
and  defied  him  as  a  deserting  traitor.  "  1  will  not  answer  in 
words,"  said  Hungerford,  aiming  a  blow  at  his  head,  which  he 
caught  on  his  shield,  and  shivered  it  to  atoms.  "  No  ad- 
vantage will  I  take,"  cried  Hungerford,  throwing  away  his 
shield  ;  but  even  then  he  sorely  wounded  Brackenbury,  who 
fell;  and  another  knight  cried,  "Spare  his  life,  brave  Hun- 
geiford, he  has  been  our  friend,  and  so  may  be  again  3  "  but 
it  was  ton  late,  for  Brackenbury  was  already  expiri 

Richard,  after  fighting  like  a  lion,  and  hewing  down  what- 
ever came  within  the  sweep  of  his  sword,  was  falling  under 
the  weight  of  numbers,  and  loud  shouts  proclaimed  his  fall. 
His  party  turned  and  lied,  and  were  pursued  closely  for 
about  fifty  minutes,  during  which  towards  a  thousand  men 
were  slain,  and  tradition  declares  that  the  mounds  along 
the  track  are  their  graves.      Drayton  sings — 


O  Redmorc  Heath  !  then  it  seemed  thy  name  was  not  in  vain, 
When  with  a  thousand's  Mood  the  earth  was  coloured  red." 


This  was  just  as  the  old  English  name  of  Senlac  became  a 

man  mouths  Sangue  lac  after  I  Listings.     At  last  a  steep 

rising  ground,  after  about  two  miles,  slackened  the  pursuit, 

for  Henry  had  no  desire  to  fulfil  Richard's  bloody  prophecy. 

Jasper    Earl   of  Pembroke,  and  Aubrey  de  \ 

I  of  Oxford,  victorious  at  last   after   their  many  piteous 

defeats,    and     Lord    Stanley,    halted    with    him ;     anil    Sir 

Reginald    bray  came   up  with  the  crown  that  Richard  had 


32         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

so  proudly  worn,  and  which  he  had  found  hanging  en  a  haw- 
thorn bush,  dinted  and  battered  ;  but  such  as  it  was  the 
Lord  Stanley  set  it  on  Henry's  head,  and  shouts  of  "God 
save  King  Harry  !  "  rang  throughout  the  field.  Crown  Hill 
became  the  name  of  the  eminence,  and  Henry  adopted  as 
his  badge  the  Crown  in  the  May-bush.  He  knelt  down  and 
returned  thanks  for  his  victory. 


VII. 

THE  FIELD  OF  CLOTH  OF  GOLD. 

YONGE. 

[With  the  accession  of  the  House  of  Tudor  the  civil  wars 
came  to  an  end.  The  aim  of  Henry  the  Seventh  was 
not  only  to  give  peace  to  the  country,  but  to  raise  the 
power  of  the  crown  high  above  the  barons  who  had 
set  up  and  put  down  kings.  With  his  reign  the  feudal 
character  of  England  came  to  an  end  ;  while  the  rare 
assemblage  of  Parliaments  freed  the  monarchy  from  the 
restraints  which  the  Houses  had  put  upon  it.  His  son, 
Henry  the  Eighth,  succeeded  to  the  power  which  his 
father  had  patiently  built  up  at  home ;  and  his  stirring 
temper  led  him  to  seek  for  a  corresponding  influence 
abroad.  Under  the  guidance  of  his  minister,  Cardinal 
Wolsey,  he  mixed  in  the  great  contest  which  France  and 
the  House  of  Austria  were  waging  for  supremacy  over 
the  Continent.  Both  powers  sought  his  friendship ;  and 
in  one  of  their  interviews  for  this  purpose  Henry  and  the 
French  King,  Francis  the  First,  so  vied  in  splendour,  that 
the  field  where  they  met  was  known  as  the  Field  of 
Cloth  of  Gold.] 

The  place  of  meeting  was   to  be  between  Ardres  and 
Guisnes,   within    the    English   pale.1     Hundreds  of  skilful 
workmen  were  employed  in  erecting  the  pavilions  that  were 
1  The  border  round  Calais. 


FIELD  OF  CLOTH  OF  GOI.!>. 


33 


to  lodge  the  two  courts  ;  barons  and  gentlemen  flocked  in 
from  ail  parts— many  of  whom,  it  was  said,  had  spent  i 
whole  year's  income  in  fitting  themselves  for  the  display; 
ami  councillors  and  heralds  rode  backwards  and  forwards 
incessantly,  arranging  the  precautions  and  the  etiquetti 
the  meeting.  The  two  kings  might,  so  ruled  the  statesmen, 
meet  in  open  field ;  but  neither  might  trust  himself  in  the 
camp  of  the  other  unless  on  principles  of  exchange.  They 
might  mutually  visit  the  Queens,  but  neither  might  be  at 
home  when  his  brother  king  visited  him.  Each  must  be  a 
hostage  for  the  other. 

Francois's  chief  tent  before    Ardres  was   a  magnificent 

dome,  sustained  by  one  mighty  mast,  and  covered  without 

with  cloth  of  gold,  lined  with  blue  velvet,  with  all  the  orbs 

of  heaven  worked  on  it  in   gold,   and  on  the  top,  out 

hollow  golden   figure  of  St.  Michael.     The  cords  were  of 

blue  silk  twisted  with  gold  of  Cyprus;  but  the  chronicler 

of  the  French  display  is  obliged  to  confess  that  the  King 

of  England's    lodgings  were   trap  plus  belle.'1     They    were 

linly  more  solid,   for  eleven  hundred   workmen,  mostly 

from   Holland  and  Flanders,  had   been  employed   on    them 

for  weeks,  chiefly  about  the  hangings,  for  the  framework  was 

of  English  timber,  and   made  at  home.      Bacchus   presided 

over  a  fountain  of  wine  in  the  court,  with  several  subordinate 

fountains  of  red,   white,   and  claret  wines,  and  the   motto, 

'•  Faita   bonne  eli'ere  qui  vouldra,"*  a  politer  one  than  that 

whii  h   labelled   the  savage  man   with  a  bow  and  arrows  who 

stood  before  the  door,  "  Cui  adhcereo  pretest" — He  prevails 

to  whom   I  adhere.     The  outside  of  the  castle  was  canvas 

to  resemble  stone  work,    the   inside   hung   with   the 

richest    arras,    and   all    divided    into    halls,    chambers,   and 

galleries,  like  any  palace    at   home,    with  a    chape!  of   the 

splendour.     It  had  the  great  advantage  of  superior 

1  I  hi  more  beautiful.  3  Let  who  will  ina 


34        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

stability,  for  a  high  wind  levelled  Francois's  blue  dome  with 
the  dust,  and  forced  him  to  take  shelter  in  the  old  castle 
of  Ardres. 

On  the  first  day,  Wolsey  had  a  conference  with  Francois, 
Duprat  with  Henry,  the  upshot  of  which  was  that  their 
children  should  be  married.  One  hundred  thousand  crowns 
a  year  were  to  be  paid  to  Henry,  nominally  with  a  view  to 
this  hypothetical  marriage,  but  really  to  secure  his  neutrality;4 
and  the  affairs  of  Scotland  were  to  be  settled  by  the  arbitra- 
tion of  Louise  of  Savoy  5  and  Cardinal  Wolsey. 

This  settled,  each  king  got  on  horseback,  himself  and 
steed  both  wearing  as  much  cloth  of  gold  and  silver  as 
could  possibly  be  put  on  them,  and  met  in  the  valley  of 
Ardres.  They  saluted  and  embraced  on  horseback,  and 
then  dismounting  at  the  same  moment,  walked  arm-in-arm 
into  the  tent  prepared  for  them,  where  a  splendid  feast  was 
spread,  with  two  trees  in  the  midst,  the  English  hawthorn 
and  French  raspberry  lovingly  entwined.  Lists  had  been 
prepared,  and  invitations  to  a  tournament  issued  long  before  ; 
and  on  the  nth  of  June,  Queen  Katharine  and  Queen 
Claude6  sat  side  by  side,  with  their  feet  on  a  foot-cloth  broi- 
dered  with  seed-pearls,  to  admire  the  jousting,  in  which  both 
their  husbands  took  a  part.  Armour  had  come  to  such  a 
state  of  cumbrous  perfection  by  this  time,  that  it  was  not 
very  easy  to  be  killed  in  a  real  battle  (barring  fire-arms),  and 
tilting  matches  were  very  safe  amusements.  Six  days  were 
given  to  tilting  with  the  lance,  two  to  fights  with  the  broad- 
sword on  horseback,  two  to  fighting  on  foot  at  the  barriers. 
On  the  last  day  there  was  some  wrestling  at  the  barriers, 
and  Henry,  who  was  fond  of  the  sport,  and  never  had  tried 
it  with  an  equal,  put  his  hand  on  his  good  brother's  collar 

4  In  the  struggle  of  Francis  with  Charles  of  A  ustria. 

5  The  French  King's  mother.  c  The  Queens  of  England 
and  France. 


FIELD  OK  CLOTH  OF  GOI.P.  35 

and  challenged  him  to  try  a  fall.     Doth  were  in  the  prime  of 
life,  stalely,  well  made  men  ;  but  Francois  was  the  jroun 
lighter,  ami  more  agile,  ami  Henry,  to  his  amazement,  found 

himself  On  his  back.  He  rose  ami  demanded  another  turn  ; 
but  the  noblemen  interfered,  thinking  it  a  game  that  might 
leave  animosities. 

Francois  was  heartily  weary  of  the  formalities  of  their 
intercourse,  and  early  one  morning  called  a  page  and  two 
gentlemen,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  up  to  the  English 
canvas  castle,  where  he  found  Henry  still  in  bed,  and 
merrily  offered  himself  to  him  as  captive,  to  which  Henry 
responded  in  the  same  tone,  by  leaping  up  and  throwiii 
rich  collar  round  his  neck  by  way  of  chain.  Francois 
then  undertook  to  help  him  to  dress,  warming  his  shirt, 
s] treading  out  his  hose,  and  trussing  his  points — nam* 
tying  the  innumerable  little  strings  that  connected  the 
doublet  with  the  hose  or  breeches,  rendering  it  nearly  im- 
possible to  dress  without  assistance.  After  having  had  Ins 
frolic  Francois  rode  home  again,  meeting  a  lecture  on  the 
way  from  the  Sieur  de  Fleuranges,  who  took  him  to  task 
thus :  "  Sire,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  back  ;  but  allow  me  to 
tell  you,  my  master,  that  you  were  a  fool  for  what  you  have 
done,  and  ill-luck  betide  those  who  advised  you  to  it." 

"  That  was  no  one— the  thought  was  my  own,"  replied 
the  King. 

And  the  King  was  altogether  the  more  reasonable,  for 
Englishmen  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  murdering  or 
imprisoning  their  guests,  and  never  in  his  life  did  Henry 
VIII.  show  a  taste  for  assassination.  Yet  when  he  beheld 
the  arrogant  manners  and  extraordinary  display  of  the  Con- 
stable of  France,  Charles  de  I'.ourboiv  he  could  not  help 
observing,  mindful  of  what  Warwick  had  been,  "If  I  had 
such  a  subject  as  that,  his  head  should  not  stay  long  on 
shoulders." 


36        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

The  next  day,  which  was  the  last  of  this  gorgeous  fort- 
night—  Midsummer  Day — King  Henry  apparelled  himself 
like  Hercules.  That  is  to  say,  he  had  a  shirt  of  silver 
damask  with  the  discourteous  motto,  "  En  femes  et  infauntes 
cy  petit  assurance,"  ~  on  his  head  a  garland  of  green  damask 
cut  into  vine  and  hawthorn  leaves,  in  his  hand  a  club 
covered  with  "green  damask  full  of  pricks ;"  the  Nemean 
lion's  skull  was  of  cloth  of  gold,  "wrought  and  frizzed  with 
flat  gold  of  damask  "  for  the  mane,  and  buskins  of  gold. 
His  sister  Mary,  in  white  and  crimson  satin,  accompanied 
him ;  also  the  nine  worthies,  nineteen  ladies,  and  a  good 
many  more,  mounted  on  horses  trapped  with  yellow  and 
white  velvet.  Thus  they  set  out  to  visit  Queen  Claude  at 
Guisnes,  meeting  halfway  a  fantastic  chariot,  containing  King 
Francois  and  all  his  masquers,  on  their  way  to  make  a  like 
call  upon  Queen  Katharine.  The  two  parties  took  no 
notice  of  each  other,  but  passed  on ;  but  when  returning 
after  supper  they  met  again,  the  Kings  embraced,  exchanged 
presents,  and  bade  farewell,  when  verily  the  scene  must 
have  been  stranger  than  any  other  ever  enacted  under  the 
open  sky — a  true  midsummer  night's  dream. 

"  During  this  triumph,"  observed  Hall,  who  was  never 
more  in  his  element,  "  so  much  people  of  Picardy  and  west 
Flanders  drew  to  Guisnes  to  see  the  King  of  England 
and  his  honour,  to  whom  victuals  of  the  court  were  in 
plenty ;  the  conduit  of  the  gate  ran  wine  always, — there 
were  vagabonds,  ploughmen,  labourers,  waggoners,  and 
beggars,  that  for  drunkenness  lay  in  routs  and  heaps.  So 
great  resort  thither  came,  that  both  knights  and  ladies  that 
were  come  to  see  the  nobleness  were  fain  to  lie  in  hay  and 
straw,  and  held  them  thereof  highly  pleased." 

And  of  these  same  knights  and  ladies,  the  French  memoir 
writer,  Du  Bellay,  says,  "  I  will  not  pause  to  relate  the  great 
:  Little  trust  can  be  in  women  and  children. 


FLODDEN  FIELD.  37 

superfluous  expense,  for  it  cannot  be  estimated.  It  wis 
such  that  many  wore  their  mills,  their  forests,  and  then 
meadows,  upon  their  backs." 


VIII. 

FLODDEN  FIELD. 
SCOTT. 

[In  spite  of  this  show  of  friendship  Henry's  alliance  was 
really  given  to  the  French  King's  rival,  the  Emperor 
Charles  the  Fifth  ;  and  Francis  avenged  himself  by 
spurring  the  Scots  to  make  war  on  England.  Their  King, 
James  the  Fourth,  led  his  army  over  the  English  border 
into  Northumberland,  and  there  m-et  the  English  at 
Flodden  Field.] 

The  Scottish  army  had  fixed  their  camp  upon  a  hill  called 
Flodden,  which  rises  to  close  in,  as  it  were,  the  extensive 
flat  called  Millfield  Plain.  This  eminence  slopes  steeply 
towards  the  plain,  and  there  is  an  extended  piece  of  level 
ground  on  the  top,  where  the  Scots  might  have  drawn  up 
their  army,  and  awaited  at  great  advantage  the  attack  of  the 
English.  Surrey1  liked  the  idea  of  venturing  an  assault  on 
that  position  so  ill,  that  he  resolved  to  try  whether  he  could 
not  prevail  on  the  King  to  abandon  it.  He  sent  a  herald 
to  invite  James  to  come  down  from  the  height,  and  join 
battle  in  the  open  plain  of  Millfield  below — reminded  him 
of  the  readiness  with  which  he  had  accepted  his  former 
challenge — and  hinted,  that  it  was  the  opinion  of  the 
English  chivalry  assembled  for  battle  that  any  delay  ol  the 
encounter  would  sound  to  the  King's  dishonour.  We  have 
seen  that  James  was  sufficiently  rash  and  imprudent,  but 
1  The  Earl  of  Surrey,  the  English  leader. 
9* 


PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

his  impetuosity  did  not  reach  to  the  pitch  Surrey  perhaps 
expected.  He  refused  to  receive  the  messenger  into  his 
presence,  and  returned  for  answer  to  the  message,  that  it 
was  not  such  as  it  became  an  earl  to  send  to  a  king. 

Surrey,  therefore,  distressed  for  provisions,  was  obliged 
to  resort  to  another  mode  of  bringing  the  Scots  to 
action.  He  moved  northward,  sweeping  round  the  hill 
of  Flodden,  keeping  out  of  the  reach  of  the  Scottish 
artillery,  until,  crossing  the  Till  near  Twisell  castle,  he 
placed  himself,  with  his  whole  army,  betwixt  James  and 
his  own  kingdom.  The  King  suffered  him  to  make  this 
flank  movement  without  interruption,  though  it  must  have 
afforded  repeated  and  advantageous  opportunities  for  attack. 
But  when  he  saw  the  English  army  interposed  betwixt  him 
and  his  dominions,  he  became  alarmed  lest  he  should  be 
cut  off  from  Scotland.  In  this  apprehension  he  was  con- 
firmed by  one  Giles  Musgrave,  an  Englishman,  whose  coun- 
sel he  used  upon  the  occasion,  and  who  assured  him  that  if 
he  did  not  descend  and  fight  with  the  English  army,  the 
Earl  of  Surrey  would  enter  Scotland,  and  lay  waste  the 
whole  country.  Stimulated  by  this  apprehension  the  King 
resolved  to  give  signal  for  the  fatal  battle.  With  this  view 
the  Scots  set  fire  to  their  huts  and  the  other  refuse  and 
litter  of  their  camp.  The  smoke  spread  along  the  side  of 
the  hill,  and  under  its  cover  the  army  of  King  James  de- 
scended the  eminence,  which  is  much  less  steep  on  the 
northern  than  the  southern  side,  while  the  English  advanced 
to  meet  them,  both  concealed  from  each  other  by  the  clouds 
of  smoke. 

The  Scots  descended  in  four  strong  columns,  all  marching 
parallel  to  each  other,  having  a  reserve  of  the  Lothian  men, 
commanded  by  Earl  Bothwell.  The  English  were  also 
divided  into  four  bodies,  with  a  reserve  of  cavalry  led  by 
Dacre. 


FLODDEN  FIELD.  39 

The  battle  commenced  at  the  hour  of  four  in  the  after- 
noon.       The  first  which  encountered  was  the  left  wing  of  the 

s,  commanded  by  the  Earl  of  Huntly  and  Lord  Hoi 
which  overpowered  and  threw  into  disorder  the  right  wing 
of  the  English,  under  Sir  Edmund    Howard.     Sir  Edmund 
was  beaten   down,  his  standard  taken,  and  he  himself  in 
danger  of  instant  death,  when  he  was  relieved  by  the  Bas- 
tard Heron,  who  came  up  at  the  head  of  a  band  of  deter- 
mined outlaws  like  himself,  and  extricated  Howard.     But 
the  English  cavalry,  under  Dacre,  which  acted  as  a  reserve, 
appears  to  have  kept  the  victors  in  check ;  while  Thomas 
Howard,  the  lord  high  admiral,  who  commanded  the  second 
division  of  the  English,  bore  down  and  routed  the  Scottish 
division  commanded  by  Crawford  and  Montrose,  who  were 
both  slain.     Thus  matters  went  on  the  Scottish  left.     Upon 
the  extreme  right  of  James's  army  a  division  of  Highlanders, 
consisting  of  the  clans  of  MacKenzie,  MacLean  and  others, 
commanded  by  the  Earls  of  Lennox  and  Argyle  were  so 
insufferably  annoyed  by  the  volleys  of  English  arrows,  that 
they  broke  their  ranks,  and,  in  despite  of  the  cries,  entreaties, 
and  signals  of  the  French  ambassador,  who  endeavoured  to 
stop  them,  rushed  tumultuously  down  hill,  and  being  at  once 
attacked  in  front  and  rear  by  Sir  Edward  Stanley,  with  the 
men  of  Cheshire  and  Lancashire,  were  routed  with  great 
slaughter. 

The  only  Scottish  division  which  remains  to  be  men- 
tioned was  commanded  by  James  in  person,  and  consisted 
of  the  choicest  of  his  nobles  and  gentry,  whose  armour 
was  so  good  that  the  arrows  made  but  slight  impression 
upon  them.  They  were  all  on  foot— the  King  himself  had 
parted  with  his  horse.  They  engaged  the  Earl  of  Surrey, 
who  opposed  to  them  the  division  which  he  personally 
commanded.  The  Scots  attacked  with  the  greatest  fury, 
and,  for  a  time,  had  the  better.     Surrey's  squadrons  were 


40       PKO.SE  READINGS    FROM   ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

disordered,  his  standard  in  great  danger,  Bothwell  and  the 
Scottish  reserve  were  advancing,  and  the  English  seemed  in 
some  risk  of  losing  the  battle.  But  Stanley,  who  had 
defeated  the  Highlanders,  came  up  on  one  flank  of  the 
King's  division ;  the  admiral,  who  had  conquered  Crawford 
and  Montrose,  assailed  them  on  the  other.  The  Scots  showed 
the  most  undaunted  courage.  Uniting  themselves  with 
the  reserve  under  Bothwell  they  formed  into  a  circle,  with 
their  spears  extended  on  every  side,  and  fought  obstinately. 
Bows  being  now  useless,  the  English  advanced  on  all  sides 
with  their  bills,  a  huge  weapon  which  made  ghastly  wrounds. 
But  they  could  not  force  the  Scots  either  to  break  or  retire, 
although  the  carnage  among  them  was  dreadful.  James 
himself  died  amidst  his  warlike  peers  and  loyal  gentry.  He 
was  twice  wounded  with  arrows,  and  at  length  despatched 
with  a  bill.  Night  fell  without  the  battle  being  absolutely 
decided,  for  the  Scottish  centre  kept  their  ground,  and 
Home  and  Dacre  held  each  other  at  bay.  But  during  the 
night  the  remainder  of  the  Scottish  army  drew  off  in  silent 
despair  from  the  bloody  field,  on  which  they  left  their  King 
and  their  choicest  nobles  and  gentlemen. 

This  great  and  decisive  victory  was  gained  by  the  Earl  of 
Surrey  on  9th  September,  15 13.  The  victors  had  about 
five  thousand  men  slain,  the  Scots  twice  that  number  at 
least.  But  the  loss  lay  not  so  much  in  the  number  of  the 
slain  as  in  their  rank  and  quality.  The  English  lost  very 
few  men  of  distinction.  The  Scots  left  on  the  field  the 
King,  two  bishops,  two  mitred  abbots,  twelve  earls,  thirteen 
lords,  and  five  eldest  sons  of  peers.  The  number  of  gentle- 
men slain  was  beyond  calculation — there  is  scarcely  a 
family  of  name  in  Scottish  history  who  did  not  lose  a 
relative  there. 

The  body  which  the  English  affirm  to  have  been  that  of 
James  was  found  on  the  field  by  Lord    Dacre,  and  carried 


THE  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  BIBLE.  4' 

by  him  to  Berwick,  and  presented  to  Surrey.  Both  of  these 
lords  knew  James's  person  too  well  to  be  mistaken.  The  body 
was  also  acknowledged  by  his  two  favourite  attendants,  Sir 
William  Scott  and  Sir  John  Forman,  who  wept  at  behold- 
ing it.  The  fate  of  these  relics  was  singular  and  degrading. 
They  were  not  committed  to  the  tomb,  for  the  Pope,  being 
at  that  time  in  alliance  with  England  against  France,  had 
laid  James  under  a  sentence  of  excommunication,  so  that 
no  priest  dared  pronounce  the  funeral  service  over  them. 
The  royal  corpse  was  therefore  embalmed  and  sent  to  the 
Monastery  of  Sheen,  in  Surrey.  It  lay  there  till  the 
Reformation,  when  the  monastery  was  given  to  the  Duke  oi 
Suffolk;  and  after  that  period  the  body, which  was  lapped 
up  in  a  sheet  of  lead,  was  suffered  to  toss  about  the  house 
like  a  piece  of  useless  lumber.  Stow,  the  historian,  saw  it 
flung  into  a  waste  room  among  old  pieces  of  wood,  lead, 
and  other  rubbish.  Some  idle  workmen,  "  for  their  foolish 
pleasure,"  says  the  same  writer,  "  hewed  off  the  head  ;  and 
one  Lancelot  Young,  master-glazier  to  Queen  Elizabeth, 
finding  a  sweet  smell  come  from  thence,  owing  doubtless 
to  the  spices  used  for  embalming  the  body,  carried  the  head 
home  and  kept  it  for  some  time  ;  but  in  the  end  caused  the 
sexton  of  Saint  Michael's,  Wood  Street,  to  bury  it  in  the 
charnel-house." 


IX. 

THE  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  BIBLE. 
GREEN. 

[While    Henry  the    Eighth  was  thus   dreaming   of  foreign 
wars  and  conquests,  the  world  was  being  stirred  by  tin 
first  movements  of  the  religious  change  called  the  Re 
formation.      This   began    with    Luther,    who    soon    won 


42        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Northern  Germany  from  its  adherence  to  the  Pope  ;  but 
it  passed  over  to  England,  where  the  ground  had  been 
prepared  for  it  by  the  previous  efforts  of  Wyclif  and  the 
Lollards.] 

As  a  great  social  and  political  movement  Lollardry  had 
ceased  to  exist,  and  little  remained  of  the  directly  religious 
impulse  given  by  Wyclif  beyond  a  vague  restlessness  and 
discontent  with  the  system  of  the  Church.  But  weak  and 
fitful  as  was  the  life  of  Lollardry,  the  prosecutions  whose 
records  lie  scattered  over  the  bishops'  registers  failed 
wholly  to  kill  it.  We  see  groups  meeting  here  and  there 
to  read  "  in  a  great  book  of  heresy  all  one  night  certain 
chapters  of  the  Evangelists  in  English,"  while  transcripts 
of  Wyclif  s  tracts  passed  from  hand  to  hand.  The  smoul- 
dering embers  needed  but  a  breath  to  fan  them  into  flame, 
and  the  breath  came  from  William  Tyndale.  Born  among 
the  Cotswolds1  when  Bosworth  Field  gave  England  to  the 
Tudors,  Tyndale  passed  from  Oxford  to  Cambridge  to  feel 
the  full  impulse  given  by  the  appearance  there  of  the  New 
Testament  of  Erasmus.2  From  that  moment  one  thought 
was  at  his  heart.  He  "  perceived  by  experience  how  that 
it  was  impossible  to  establish  the  lay  people  in  any  truth 
except  the  scripture  were  plainly  laid  before  their  eyes  in 
their  mother  tongue."  "  If  God  spare  my  life,"  he  said  to  a 
learned  controversialist,  "  ere  many  years  I  will  cause  a  boy 
that  driveth  a  plough  shall  know  more  of  the  scripture  than 
thou  dost."  But  he  was  a  man  of  forty  before  his  dream  be- 
came fact.  Drawn  from  his  retirement  in  Gloucestershire  by 
the  news  of  Luther's  protest  at  Wittemberg,3  he  found  shelter 

1  In  Gloucestershire.  2  A  Dutch  scholar  whose  version  oj 

the  Greek  Testament,  with  notes,  gave  the  first  impulse  to  new 
religious  thought.     He  taught  for  a  while  at  Cambridge. 

3  Luther  began  his  work  by  a  protest  against  the  sale  nf  indul- 
gences or  the  remission  of  purgatorial  punishment  for  sins. 


THE  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  BIBLE.  43 

for  a  year  with  a  London  alderman,  Humfrey  Monmouth, 
"lie  studied  most  part  of  the  day  at  his  book,"  said  his 
host  afterwards,  "  and  would  eat  but  sodden  meat  by  his 
good  will  and  drink  but  small  single  beer."  The  book  at 
which  he  studied  was  the  Bible.  But  it  was  soon  needful 
to  quit  England  if  his  purpose  was  to  hold.  "  I  understood 
at  the  last  not  only  that  there  was  no  room  in  my  lord  of 
London's  4  palace  to  translate  the  New  Testament,  but  also 
that  there  was  no  place  to  do  it  in  all  England." 

From  Hamburg,  where  he  took  refuge  in  1524,  he  pro- 
bably soon  found  his  way  to  the  little  town  which  had  sud- 
denly become  the  sacred  city  of  the  Reformation.5  Students 
of  all  nations  were  flocking  there  with  an  enthusiasm  which 
resembled  that  of  the  Crusades.  "  As  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  town,"  a  contemporary  tells  us,  "  they  returned 
thanks  to  God  with  clasped  hands,  for  from  Wittemberg, 
as  heretofore  from  Jerusalem,  the  light  of  evangelical  truth 
had  spread  to  the  utmost  parts  of  the  earth."  Such  a 
visit  could  only  fire  Tyndale  to  face  the  "  poverty,  exile, 
bitter  absence  from  friends,  hunger  and  thirst  and  cold, 
great  dangers,  and  innumerable  other  hard  and  sharp 
fightings,"  which  the  work  he  had  set  himself  was  to  bring 
with  it.  In  1525  his  version  of  the  New  Testament  was 
completed,  and  means  were  furnished  by  English  merchants 
for  printing  it  at  Koln.  But  Tyndale  had  soon  to  fly  with 
his  sheets  to  Worms,  a  city  whose  Lutheran  tendencies 
made  it  a  safer  refuge,  and  it  was  from  Worms  that  six 
thousand  copies  of  the  New  Testament  were  sent  in  1526 
to  English  shores. 

The  King  was  keenly  opposed  to  a  book  which  he  looked 
on  as  made  "at  the  solicitation  and  instance  of  Luther  ;" 
and  even  the  men  of  the  New  8  Learning,  from  whom  it 

*  The  Bishop  of  London.  a   Wittemberg,  where  Luther 

taught.  G  The  scholars  who  sympathized  with  learning  and 


44      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

might  have  hoped  for  welcome,  were  estranged  from  it  by 
Lutheran  origin.  We  can  only  fairly  judge  their  action 
by  viewing  it  in  the  light  of  the  time.  What  Warham  and 
More  7  saw  over  sea  might  well  have  turned  them  from  a 
movement  which  seemed  breaking  down  the  very  foundations 
of  religion  and  society.  Not  only  was  the  fabric  of  the 
Church  rent  asunder  and  the  centre  of  Christian  unity  s  de- 
nounced as  "  Babylon,"  but  the  reform  itself  seemed  passing 
into  anarchy.  Luther  was  steadily  moving  onward  from  the 
denial  of  one  Catholic  dogma  to  that  of  another ;  and  what 
Luther  still  clung  to  his  followers  were  ready  to  fling  away. 
Carlstadt  was  denouncing  the  reformer  of  Wittemberg  as 
fiercely  as  Luther  himself  had  denounced  the  Pope,  and 
meanwhile  the  religious  excitement  was  kindling  wild 
dreams  of  social  revolution,  and  men  stood  aghast  at  the 
horrors  of  a  Peasant  War  which  broke  out  in  Southern  Ger- 
many. It  was  not  therefore  as  a  mere  translation  of  the 
Bible  that  Tyndale's  work  reached  England.  It  came  as  a 
part  of  the  Lutheran  movement,  and  it  bore  the  Lutheran 
stamp  in  its  version  of  ecclesiastical  words.  "Church" 
became  "  congregation,"  "  priest  "  was  changed  into  "  elder." 
It  came  too  in  company  with  Luther's  bitter  invectives  and 
reprints  of  the  tracts  of  Wyclif,  which  the  German  traders 
of  the  Steelyard  9  were  importing  in  large  numbers.  We  can 
hardly  wonder  that  More  denounced  the  book  as  heretical, 
or  that  Warham  ordered  it  to  be  given  up  by  all  who 
possessed  it. 

Wolsey  took  little  heed  of  religious  matters,  but  his  policy 
was  one  of  political  adhesion  to  Rome,  and  he  presided 
over  a  solemn  penance  to  which  some  Steelyard  men  sub- 

with  the  work  of  Erasmus  were  called    "  Men   of  the   New 
Learning."  7  Archbishop  Warham  and  Sir  Thomas  More 

were  the  heads  of  the  New  Learning  in  England.  8  Rome, 

or  the  Papacy.  y  The  London  establishment  of  the  traders 

from  the  Hanseatic  towns  of  North  Germany. 


THE  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  BIBLE.  45 

mitted  in  St.  Paul's.  "  With  six  and  thirty  abbots,  mitred 
priors,  and  bishops,  and  he  in  his  whole  pomp  mitred  "  the 
Cardinal  looked  on  while  "  great  baskets  full  of  books  .  .  . 
were  commanded  after  the  great  fire  was  made  before  the 
Rood  of  Northen,"  the  crucifix  by  the  great  north  door  of 
the  cathedral,  "  thus  to  be  burned,  and  those  heretics  to  go 
thrice  about  the  fire  and  to  cast  in  their  fagots."  But 
scenes  and  denunciations  such  as  these  were  vain  in  the 
presence  of  an  enthusiasm  which  grew  every  hour.  "  Eng- 
lishmen," says  a  scholar  of  the  time,  "  were  so  eager  for  the 
gospel  as  to  affirm  that  they  would  buy  a  New  Testament 
even  if  they  had  to  give  a  hundred  thousand  pieces  of 
money  for  it."  Bibles  and  pamphlets  were  smuggled  over 
to  England  and  circulated  among  the  poorer  and  trading 
classes  through  the  agency  of  an  association  of  "  Christian 
Brethren,"  consisting  principally  of  London  tradesmen  and 
citizens,  but  whose  missionaries  spread  over  the  country  at 
large. 

They  found  their  way  at  once  to  the  Universities  where 
the  intellectual  impulse  given  by  the  New  Learning 
was  quickening  religious  speculation.  Cambridge  had 
already  won  a  name  for  heresy;  Barnes,  one  of  its  fore- 
most scholars,  had  to  carry  his  fagot  before  Wolsey  at  St. 
Paul's  j  two  other  Cambridge  teachers,  Bilney  and  Latimer, 
were  already  known  as  "  Lutherans."  The  Cambridge 
scholars  whom  Wolsey  introduced  into  Cardinal  College  l0 
which  he  was  founding  spread  the  contagion  through 
Oxford.  A  group  of  "Brethren"  was  formed  in  Cardinal 
College  for  the  secret  reading  and  discussion  of  the  Epistles  ; 
and  this  soon  included  the  more  intelligent  and  leanu.  I 
scholars  of  the  University.  It  was  in  vain  that  Clark,  the 
centre  of  this  group,  strove  to  dissuade  fresh  members  from 
joining  it  by  warnings  of  the  impending  dangers.  "I  fell 
10  Now  Christ-Church. 


46        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

down  on  my  knees  at  his  feet,"  says  one  of  them,  Anthony 
Dalaber,  "  and  with  tears  and  sighs  besought  him  that  for 
the  tender  mercy  of  God  he  should  not  refuse  me,  saying 
that  I  trusted  verily  that  he  who  had  begun  this  on  me 
would  not  forsake  me,  but  would  give  me  grace  to  continue 
therein  to  the  end.  When  he  heard  me  say  so  he  came  to 
me,  took  me  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  me,  saying,  '  The  Lord 
God  Almighty  grant  you  so  to  do,  and  from  henceforth 
ever  take  me  for  your  father,  and  I  will  take  you  for  my 
son  in  Christ' " 


X. 

CORONATION  OF  ANNE  BOLEYN. 
FROUDE. 

[Henry  the  Eighth  had  no  love  for  the  new  opinions  :  but 
at  this  moment  he  was  drawn  into  a  quarrel  with  the 
Papacy  by  its  refusal  to  divorce  him  from  his  Queen, 
Catharine  of  Aragon.  The  quarrel  widened  into  an 
actual  breach  between  Rome  and  England.  Henry  threw 
off  all  connexion  with  Rome,  and  in  defiance  of  its  in- 
junctions married  a  new  queen,  Anne  Boleyn.  Her 
solemn  coronation  announced  that  the  separation  of 
England  from  the  Papacy  was  irrevocable.] 

On  the  morning  of  the  31st  of  May,  the  families  of  the 
London  citizens  were  stirring  early  in  all  houses.  From 
Temple  Bar  to  the  Tower  the  streets  were  fresh  strewed 
with  gravel,  the  footpaths  were  railed  off  along  the  whole 
distance,  and  occupied  on  one  side  by  the  gilds,  then 
workmen  and  apprentices,  on  the  other  by  the  city  con- 
stables and  officials  in  their  gaudy  uniforms,  "  with  their 
staves    in    hand   for   to   cause    the  people  to   keep   good 


CORONATION  OF  ANNE  BOLEYN.  47 

room  and  order."     Cornhill  ami  Gracechurch  Streel  had 

dressed  their  fronts  in  scarlet  and  crimson,  in  arras  and 
tapestry,  and  the  rich  carpet  work  from  Persia  and  the 
East.  Cheapside,  to  outshine  her  rivals,  was  draped  even 
more  splendidly  in  cloth  of  gold,  and  tissue  and  vel 
The  sheriffs  were  pacing  up  and  down  on  their  great 
Flemish  horses,  hung  with  liveries,  and  all  the  windows  were 
thronged  with  ladies  crowding  to  see  the  procession  pass. 
At  length  the  Tower  guns  opened,  the  grim  gates  rolled  back, 
and  under  the  archway,  in  the  bright  May  sunshine,  the 
long  column  began  slowly  to  defile.  Two  states  only  per- 
mitted their  representatives  to  grace  the  scene  with  their 
presence — Venice  and  France.  It  was  perhaps  to  make 
the  most  of  this  isolated  countenance  that  the  French 
ambassador's  train  formed  the  van  of  the  cavalcade. 
Twelve  French  knights  came  riding  foremost  in  surcoats 
of  blue  velvet  with  sleeves  of  yellow  silk,  their  horses 
trapped  in  blue,  with  white  crosses  powdered  on  their 
hangings.  After  them  followed  a  troop  of  English  gentle- 
men, two  and  two,  and  then  the  Knights  of  the  Bath,  "in 
gowns  of  violet  with  hoods  purfled  with  miniver,  like 
doctors."  Next,  perhaps  at  a  little  interval,  the  abbots 
passed  on  mitred  in  their  robes  ;  the  barons  followed  in 
crimson  velvet,  the  bishops  then,  and  then  the  earls  and 
marquises,  the  dresses  of  each  order  increasing  in  elaborate 
gorgeousness.  All  these  rode  on  in  pairs.  Then  came 
alone  Audeley,  Lord  Chancellor,  and  behind  him  the 
Venetian  ambassador  and  the  Archbishop  of  York  ;  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  Du  Bellay,  Bishop  of 
Bayonne  and  of  Paris,  not  now  with  bugle  and  hunting- 
frock,  but  solemn  with  stole  and  crozier.  Next,  the  lord 
mayor,  with  the  city  mace  in  hand,  and  Garter  in  his  coat- 
of-arms  ;  and  then  Ford  William  Howard— P.elted  Will 
Howard,  of  the  Scottish  Border,  Marshal  of  England.    The 


4S       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

officers  of  the  Queen's  household  succeeded  the  marshal  in 
scarlet  and  gold,  and  the  van  of  the  procession  was  closed 
by  the  Duke  of  Suffolk,  as  high  constable,  with  his  silver 
wand.  It  is  no  easy  matter  to  picture  to  ourselves  the 
blazing  trail  of  splendour  which  in  such  a  pageant  must 
have  drawn  along  the  London  streets,— those  streets  which 
now  we  know  so  black  and  smoke-grimed,  themselves  then 
radiant  with  masses  of  colour,  gold,  and  crimson,  and 
violet.  Yet  there  it  was,  and  there  the  sun  could  shine 
upon  it,  and  tens  of  thousands  of  eyes  were  gazing  on  the 
scene  out  of  the  crowded  lattices. 

Glorious  as  the  spectacle  was,  perhaps  however  it  passed 
unheeded.  Those  eyes  were  watching  all  for  another  ob- 
ject which  now  drew  near.  In  an  open  space  behind  the 
constable  there  was  seen  approaching  a  "white  chariot/' 
drawn  by  two  palfreys  in  white  damask  which  swept  the 
ground  ;  a  golden  canopy  borne  above  it,  making  music 
with  silver  bells  :  and  in  the  chariot  sat  the  observed  of  all 
observers,  the  beautiful  occasion  of  all  this  glittering 
homage ;  fortune's  plaything  of  the  hour,1  the  Queen  of 
England — queen  at  last — borne  along  upon  the  waves  of 
this  sea  of  glory,  breathing  the  perfumed  incense  of  great- 
ness which  she  had  risked  her  fair  name,  her  delicacy,  her 
honour,  her  self-respect  to  win  ;  and  she  had  won  it.  There 
she  sate,  dressed  in  white  tissue  robes,  her  fair  hair  flow- 
ing loose  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  temples  circled  with 
a  light  coronet  of  gold  and  diamonds — most  beautiful — 
loveliest — most  favoured  perhaps,  as  she  seemed  at  that 
hour,  of  all  England's  daughters. 

Three  short  years  have  yet  to  pass,  and  again,  on  a 
summer  morning,  Queen  Anne  Boleyn  will  leave  the  Tower 
of  London — not  radiant  then  with  beauty  on  a  gay  errand 
of  coronation,  but  a  poor  wandering  ghost,  on  a  sail  tragic 

1  Anne  Boleyn. 


CORONATION  OF  ANNE  HOLEY N.  49 

errand,  from  which  she  will  never  more  return,  passing  away 
out  of  an  earth,  where  .she  may  .stay  no  longer,  into  a  pre- 
sence where,  nevertheless,  we  know  that  all  is  well — for  all 
of  us — and  therefore  for  her. 

But  let  us  not  cloud  her  short  lived  sunshine  with  the 
shadow  of  the  future.  She  went  on  in  her  loveliness,  the 
peeresses  following  in  their  carriages,  with  the  royal  guard 
in  their  rear.  In  Fenchurch  Street  she  was  met  by  the 
children  of  the  city  schools ;  and  at  the  corner  of  Grace- 
church  Street  a  masterpiece  had  been  prepared  of  the 
pseudo-classic  art,  then  so  fashionable,  by  the  merchants  of 
the  Styll-yard.  A  Mount  Parnassus  had  been  constructed, 
and  a  Helicon  fountain  upon  it  playing  into  a  basin  with 
four  jets  of  Rhenish  wine.  On  the  top  of  the  mountain  sat 
Apollo  with  Calliope  at  his  feet,  and  on  either  side  the 
remaining  Muses,  holding  lutes  or  harps,  and  singing  each 
of  them  some  "posy"  or  epigram  in  praise  of  the  Queen, 
which  was  presented,  after  it  had  been  sung,  written  in 
letters  of  gold.  From  Gracechurch  Street,  the  procession 
passed  to  Leadenhall,  where  there  was  a  spectacle  in  better 
taste,  of  the  old  English  Catholic  kind,  quaint  perhaps 
and  forced,  but  truly  and  even  beautifully  emblematic. 
There  was  again  "a  little  mountain,."  which  was  hung  with 
red  and  white  roses  ;  a  gold  ring  was  placed  on  the  summit, 
on  which,  as  the  Queen  appeared,  a  white  falcon  was  made 
to  "descend  as  out  of  the  sky" — "and  then  incontinent 
came  down  an  angel  with  great  melody,  and  set  a  close 
crown  of  gold  upon  the  falcon's  head ;  and  in  the  same 
pageant  sat  Saint  Anne  with  all  her  issue  beneath  her  ;  and 
Mary  Cleophas  with  her  four  children,  of  the  which  children 
one  made  a  goodly  oration  to  the  Queen,  of  the  fruitfulness 
of  Saint  Anne,  trusting  that  the  fruit  should  come  ot  her." 

With  such  "pretty  conceits,"  at  that  time  the  honest 
tokens  of  an  English  welcome,  the  new  Queen  was  received 


5o       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

by  the  citizens  of  London.  These  scenes  must  be  multi- 
plied by  the  number  of  the  streets,  where  some  fresh  fancy 
met  her  at  every  turn.  To  preserve  the  festivities  from 
flagging,  every  fountain  and  conduit  "within  the  walls  ran 
all  day  with  wine  ;  the  bells  of  every  steeple  were  ringing  ; 
children  lay  in  wait  with  songs,  and  ladies  with  posies,  in 
which  all  the  resources  of  fantastic  extravagance  were  ex- 
hausted ;  and  thus  in  an  unbroken  triumph — and  to  outward 
appearance  received  with  the  warmest  affection — she  passed 
under  Temple  Bar,  down  the  Strand  by  Charing  Cross  to 
Westminster  Hall.  The  King  was  not  with  her  through- 
out the  day ;  nor  did  he  intend  to  be  with  her  in  any  part 
of  the  ceremony.  She  was  to  reign  without  a  rival,  the 
undisputed  sovereign  of  the  hour. 

Saturday  being  passed  in  showing  herself  to  the  people, 
she  retired  for  the  night  to  "  the  King's  manour-house  at 
Westminster,"  where  she  slept.  On  the  following  morning 
between  eight  and  nine  o'clock  she  returned  to  the  Hall, 
where  the  lord  mayor,  the  city  council,  and  the  peers  were 
again  assembled,  and  took  her  place  on  the  high  dais  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs  under  the  cloth  of  state  ;  while  the  bishops, 
tne  abbots,  and  the  monks  of  the  Abbey  formed  in  the 
area.  A  railed  way  ..had  been  laid  with  carpets  across 
Palace  Yard  and  die  Sanctuary  to  the  Abbey  gates,  and 
when  all  was  ready,  preceded  by  the  peers  in  their  robes  of 
Parliament,  the  Knights  of  the  Garter  in  the  dress  of  the 
order,  she  swept  out  under  her  canopy,  the  bishops  and  the 
monks  "solemnly  singing."  The  train  was  borne  by  the 
old  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  her  aunt,  the  Bishops  of  London 
and  Winchester  on  either  side  "  bearing  up  the  lappets  of 
her  robe."  The  Earl  of  Oxford  carried  the  crown  on  its 
cushion  immediately  before  her.  She  was  dressed  in  purple 
velvet  furred  with  ermine,  her  hair  escaping  loose,  as  she 
usually  wore  it,  under  a  wreath  of  diamonds.     On  entering 


W'YAT'S    INSURRECTION.  51 

the  Abbey  she  was  led  to  the  coronation  chair,  where  the 
sat  while  the  train  fell  into  their]  f  d  the  preliminaries 

of  the  ceremonial  were  despatched.     Then  she  was  . 

ducted  up  to  the  high  altar  and  anointed  Queen  of  England, 
and  she  received  from  the  hands  of  Cranmer,2  fresh  come 
in  haste  from  Dunstable,  with  the  last  words  of  his  sentence 
upon  Catharine  scarcely  silent  upon  his  lips,  the  golden 
sceptre  and  St.  Edward's  crown. 


XI. 

WYAT'S  INSURRECTION. 

LINGARD. 

[Anne  Boleyn  was  soon  divorced  and  put  to  death;  but 
Henry  still  clung  to  his  independence  of  Rome.  But 
though  thus  parted  from  the  Pope,  he  strove  to  avoid  any 
change  of  religious  belief,  lor  he  hated  Protestantism  as 
much  as  he  hated  Rome.  When  he  died,  however,  the 
Protestants  became  rulers  of  England.  The  new  King, 
Edward  the  Sixth,  was  a  boy;  and  the  nobles  who  ruled 
in  his  name  were  Protestants  and  forced  their  belief  on 
the  land.  There  was  revolt  and  discontent,  for  the  bulk 
of  Englishmen  were  like  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  wished 
to  be  free  from  Rome,  but  to  retain  their  old  beliefs. 
Revolt  however  was  put  down  ;  and  all  had  to  be  Pro- 
testants till  Edward  died,  a  few  years  afterwards.  Then 
his  sister  Mary  came  to  the  throne.  She  was  a  bigoted 
Catholic,  and  set  herself  to  undo  all  that  had  been 
done.  Not  only  did  she  do  away  with  Protestantism, 
but  she  brought  England  again  under  obedience  to  the 
See  of  Rome.  At  first  she  did  not  persecute  the  Pro- 
testants :  but  they  feared  she  would  soon  do  so;  and 
their  fears  were  increased  by  news  of  Mary's  purpose  to 
wed  Philip  of  Spain.  They  rose  in  revolt  in  Western  and 
Middle  England,  and  above  all  in  Kent.] 

1  Cra?imer  was  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.     He  had  /.. 
nou need  the  sentence  of  divorce  between  Henry  and  Catharine. 


52        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

It  was  in  Kent  only  that  the  insurrection  assumed  a 
formidable  appearance  ander  the  direction  of  Sir  Thomas 
Wyat  If  we  may  believe  his  own  assertion  he  ought  not 
to  be  charged  with  the  origin  of  the  conspiracy.  It  was 
formed  without  his  knowledge,  and  was  first  communicated 
to  him  by  the  Earl  of  Devon  ;  but  he  engaged  in  it  with 
cheerfulness,  under  the  persuasion  that  the  marriage  of  the 
Queen  with  Philip  would  be  followed  by  the  death  of  the 
Lady  Elizabeth,1  and  by  the  .subversion  of  the  national 
liberties.  By  the  apostasy  of  Courtenay,2  he  became  one  of 
the  principals  in  the  insurrection  :  and  while  his  associates, 
by  their  presumption  and  weakness,  proved  themselves  un- 
equal to  the  attempt,  he  excited  the  applause  of  his  very 
adversaries,  by  the  secrecy  and  address  with  which  he 
organized  the  rising,  and  by  the  spirit  and  perseverance 
with  which  he  conducted  the  enterprise.  The  moment  he 
drew  the  sword,  fifteen  hundred  armed  men  assembled 
around  him  ;  while  five  thousand  others  remained  at  their 
homes,  ready,  at  the  first  toll  of  the  alarum-bell,  to  crowd 
'co  his  standard.  He  fixed  his  head-quarters  in  the  old  and 
ruinous  castle  of  Rochester  ;  a  squadron  of  five  sail,  in  the 
Thames,  under  his  secret  associate  Winter,  supplied  him 
with  cannon  and  ammunition  ;  and  batteries  were  erected 
to  command  the  passage  of  the  bridge,  and  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  river.  Yet  fortune  did  not  appear  to  favour 
his  first  attempts.  Sir  Robert  Southwell  dispersed  a  party 
of  insurgents  under  Knevet ;  the  Lord  Abergavenny  de- 
feated a  large  reinforcement  led  by  Isley,  another  of  the 
conspirators ;  and  the  citizens  of  Canterbury  rejected  his 
entreaties  and  derided  his  threats.  It  required  all  his 
address  to  keep  his  followers  together.  Though  he  boasted 
->f  the    succours   which   he    daily    expected    from    France 

1  Anne  Boleyn's  daughter,  afterwards  Queen  Elizabeth. 

2  The  Earl  of  Devon. 


WYAT'S  INSURRECTION.  53 

though  he  circulated  reports  of  successful  risings  in  other 
parts  of  the  country,  many  of  the  insurgents  began  to 
waver;  several  sent  to  the  council  offers  to  return  to  their 
duty,  on  condition  of  pardon  ;  and  there  is  reason  to  believe 
that  the  main  force  under  Wyat  would  have  dissolved  of 
itself,  had  it  been  suffered  to  remain  a  few  days  longer  in  a 
state  of  inactivity. 

But  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  had  already  marched  from 
London,  with  a  detachment  of  guards,  under  the  command 
of  Sir  Henry  Jerningham.  He  was  immediately  followed 
by  five  hundred  Londoners,  led  by  Captain  Bret,  and  was 
afterwards  joined  by  the  Sheriff  of  Kent  with  the  bands  of 
the  county.  This  force  was  far  inferior  in  number  to  the 
enemy ;  and,  what  was  of  more  disastrous  consequence, 
some  of  its  leaders  were  in  secret  league  with  Wyat.  The 
Duke,  having  in  vain  made  an  offer  of  pardon,  ordered  the 
bridge  to  be  forced.  The  troops  were  already  in  motion, 
when  Bret,  who  led  the  van,  halted  his  column,  and  raising 
his  sword,  exclaimed,  "  Masters,  we  are  going  to  fight  in  an 
unholy  quarrel  against  our  friends  and  countrymen,  who 
seek  only  to  preserve  us  from  the  dominion  of  foreigners. 
Wherefore  I  think  that  no  English  heart  should  oppose 
them,  and  am  resolved  for  my  own  part  to  shed  my  blood 
in  the  cause  of  this  worthy  captain,  Master  Wyat."  This 
address  was  seconded  by  Brian  Fitzwilliam  ;  shouts  of  "  a 
Wyat !  a  Wyat  1 "  burst  from  the  ranks  ;  and  the  Londoners, 
instead  of  advancing  against  the  rebels,  faced  about  to 
oppose  the  royalists.  At  that  moment  Wyat  himself  joined 
them  at  the  head  of  his  cavalry  ;  and  the.  Duke,  with  his 
principal  officers,  apprehending  a  general  defection,  fled 
towards  Gravesend.  Seven  pieces  of  artillery  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  insurgents  ;  their  ranks  were  recruited  from 
the  deserters ;  and  the  whole  body,  confident  of  victory, 
began  their  march  in  the  direction  of  London. 
10 


5  1 


1'ROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 


This  unexpected  result  revealed  to  the  Queen  the  alarming 
secret  that  the  conspiracy  had  pushed  its  branches  into  the 
very  heart  of  the  metropolis.  Every  precaution  was  imme- 
diately taken  for  the  security  of  the  court,  the  Tower,  and 
the  city  ;  the  bridges  for  fifteen  miles  were  broken  down, 
and  the  boats  secured  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river ; 
the  neighbouring  peers  received  orders  to  raise  their  tenantry, 
and  hasten  to  the  protection  of  the  royal  person ;  and  a 
reward  of  one  hundred  pounds  per  annum  in  land  was 
offered  for  the  apprehension  of  Wyat.  That  chieftain,  with 
fifteen  thousand  men  under  his  command,  had  marched 
through  Dartford  to  Greenwich  and  Deptford,  when  a 
message  from  the  council,  inquiring  into  the  extent  of  his 
demands,  betrayed  their  diffidence,  and  added  to  his  pre- 
sumption. In  the  court  and  the  council-room,  nothing  was 
to  be  heard  but  expressions  of  mistrust  and  apprehension  ; 
some  blamed  the  precipitancy  of  Gardiner3  in  the  change  of 
religion  ;  some  the  interested  policy  of  the  advisers  of  the 
Spanish  match ;  and  the  imperial  ambassadors,  with  the 
exception  of  Renard,  fearing  for  their  lives,  escaped  in  a 
merchant-vessel  lying  in  the  river.  The  Queen 4  alone 
appeared  firm  and  collected  ;  she  betrayed  no  symptom  of 
fear,  no  doubt  of  the  result ;  she  ordered  her  ministers  to 
provide  the  means  of  defence,  and  undertook  to  fix,  by  her 
confidence  and  address,  the  wavering  loyalty  of  the 
Londoners.  The  lord  mayor  had  called  an  extraordinary 
meeting  of  the  citizens  ;  and,  at  three  in  the  afternoon, 
Mary,  with  the  sceptre  in  her  hand,  and  accompanied  by 
her  ladies  and  officers  of  state,  entered  the  Guildhall.  She 
was  received  with  every  demonstration  of  respect,  and,  in  a 
firm  and  dignified  tone,  complained  of  the  disobedience 
and  insolence  of  the  men  of  Kent.  At  first  the  leaders 
had  condemned  her  intended  marriage  with  the  Prince  of 
8  Bishop  of  Winchester  and  minister  of  the  Queen.         i  Mary. 


WYATS    INSl   KIM  I    I  [ON.  55 

Spain;  now  they  bad  betrayed  their  real  design.  They 
demanded  the  custody  of  her  person,  the  appointment  of 
her  council,  and  the  command  of  the  Tower.     Their  objei  t 

was  to  obtain  the  exercise  of  the  royal  authority,  and  to 
abolish  the  national  worship.  But  she  was  convinced  that 
her  people  loved  her  too  well  to  surrender  her  into  the 
hands  of  rebels.  "As  for  this  marriage,"  she  continue-' 1. 
"ye  shall  understand  that  I  enterprised  not  the  do 
thereof,  without  the  advice  of  all  our  privy  council ;  nor  am 
I,  I  assure  ye,  so  bent  to  my  own  will,  or  so  affectionate, 
that  for  my  own  pleasure  I  would  choose  where  I  lust,  or 
needs  must  have  a  husband.  I  have  hitherto  lived  a  maid  ; 
and  doubt  nothing,  but  with  God's  grace  I  am  able  to  live 
so  still.  Certainly,  did  I  think  that  this  marriage  were  to 
the  hurt  of  you  my  subjects,  or  the  impeachment  of  my 
royal  estate,  I  would  never  consent  thereunto.  And,  I 
promise  you,  on  the  word  of  a  queen,  that,  if  it  shall  not 
appear  to  the  Lords  and  Commons  in  parliament  to  be  for 
the  benefit  of  the  whole  realm,  I  will  never  marry  while  I 
live.  Wherefore,  stand  fast  against  these  rebels,  your 
enemies  and  mine;  fear  them  not,  for  I  assure  ye,  I  fear 
them  nothing  at  all  ;  and  I  will  leave  with  you  my  Lord 
Howard  and  my  lord  admiral,  who  will  be  assistant  with 
the  mayor  for  your  defence."  With  these  words  she 
departed ;  the  hall  rang  with  acclamations ;  and  by  the 
next  morning  more  than  twenty  thousand  men  had  enrolled 
their  names  for  the  protection  of  the  city. 

The  next  day  Wyat  entered  Southwark.  But  his  followers 
had  dwindled  to  seven  thousand  men,  and  were  hourly 
diminishing.  No  succours  had  arrived  from  France  ;  no 
insurrection  had  burst  forth  in  any  other  county ;  and  the 
royal  army  was  daily  strengthened  by  reinforcements.  The 
batteries  erected  on  the  walls  of  the  Towei  compelled  him 
to  leave  Southwark;  but  he  had  by  this  time  arranged  .1 


56        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

plan  with  some  of  the  reformers  in  the  city  to  surprise 
Ludgate  an  hour  before  sunrise ;  and  for  that  purpose 
directed  his  march  towards  Kingston.  Thirty  feet  of  the 
wooden  bridge  had  been  destroyed ;  but  he  swam,  or 
prevailed  on  two  seamen  to  swim,  across  the  river,  and, 
having  procured  a  boat  from  the  opposite  bank,  laboured 
with  a  few  associates  at  the  repairs,  while  his  men  refreshed 
themselves  in  the  town.  At  eleven  at  night  the  insurgents 
passed  the  bridge  ;  at  Brentford  they  drove  in  the  advanced 
post  of  the  royalists ;  but  an  hour  was  lost  in  repairing  the 
carriage  of  a  cannon,  and,  as  it  became  too  late  for  Wyat  to 
keep  his  appointment  at  Ludgate,  the  chief  of  his  advisers 
abandoned  him  in  despair.  Among  these  were  Poinet,  the 
Protestant  Bishop  of  Winchester,  who  now  hastened  to  the 
Continent;  and  Sir  George  Harper,  who  rode  to  St.  James's, 
and  announced  the  approach  and  expectations  of  Wyat. 
He  arrived  about  two  hours  after  midnight.  The  palace 
was  instantly  filled  with  alarm  ;  the  boldness  of  the  attempt 
gave  birth  to  reports  of  treason  in  the  city  and  the  court ; 
and  the  ministers  on  their  knees,  particularly  the  Chancellor, 
conjured  the  Queen  to  provide  for  her  own  safety,  by  retiring 
into  the  Tower.  But  Mary  scorned  the  timidity  of  her 
advisers :  from  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  and  Lord  Clinton 
she  received  assurances  that  they  would  do  their  duty ;  and 
in  return  she  announced  her  fixed  determination  to  remain 
at  her  post.  In  a  council  of  war  it  was  decided  to  place 
a  strong  force  at  Ludgate,  to  permit  the  advance  of  Wyat, 
and  then  to  press  on  him  from  every  quarter,  and  to  inclose 
him  Ike  a  wild  beast  in  the  toils. 

At  four  in  the  morning  the  drum  beat  to  arms ;  and  in  a 
few  hours  the  royalists  under  Pembroke  and  Clinton 
amounted  to  ten  thousand  infantry,  and  fifteen  Jiundred 
cavalry.  The  hill  opposite  St.  James's  was  occupied  with  a 
battery  of  cannon  and  a  strong  squadron  of  horse  ;  lower 


WVAT'S  [NSURRECTION.  57 

down,    and    Dearer   to    Charing    Cross,    were    posted    two 
divisions    of    infantry  ;    and    several    smaller    parties    were 
detached  to  different  points  in  the  vicinity.     About  nine, 
Wyat  readied  Hyde  Park  Corner.      Many  of  his   followers 
who  heard  of  the   Queen's  proclamation    of  pardon,    had 
slunk   away  in   the  darkness  of  the   night ;   the  rest  were 
appalled  at   the  sight  of  the  formidable  array  before  their 
eyes.     But  their  leader  saw  that  to  recede  must  be  his  ruin  ; 
he  still  relied  on  the  co-operation  of  the  conspirators  and 
reformers  in   the  city ;  and  after  a  short  cannonade,  sei. 
a  standard,  rushed   forward  to  charge  the  cavalry.     They 
opened;  allowed  three  or  four  hundred  men  to  pass  ;  and 
closing,  cut  off  the  communication  between  them  and  the 
main  body.     The  insurgents,  separated   from  their  leader, 
did    not    long    sustain    the   unequal    contest ;    about    one 
hundred  were    killed,    great   numbers   wounded,   and    four 
hundred  made  prisoners.    Wyat  paid   no   attention   to   the 
battle  which  raged  behind  his  back.     Intent  on  his  purpose, 
he  hastened   through  Piccadilly,  insulted   the  gates  of  the 
palace,  and  proceeded  towards  the  city.     No  molestation 
was  offered  by  the  armed  bands  stationed  on  each  side  of 
the  street.     At  Ludgate  he  knocked,  and  demanded  admit- 
tance,  "for  the  Queen  had  granted  all   his   petitions." — 
"Avaunt,  traitor!"  exclaimed   from   the  gallery  the  Lord 
William  Howard,  "  thou  shalt  have  no  entrance  here."    Dis- 
appointed and   confounded,  he   retraced  his   steps,   till   he 
came  opposite  the  inn  called  the   Bel  Savage.     There  he 
halted  a  few  minutes.     To  the   spectators  he   seemed  ab- 
sorbed in  thought;  but  was  quickly  aroused  by  the  shouts 
of  the  combatants,  and  with  forty  companions  continued  to 
fight  his  way  back,  till  he  reached  Temple  Bar.     He  found 
it  occupied   by  a  strong  detachment   of    horse  ;    whatever 
way  he  turned,  fresh  bodies  of  royalists  poured  upon  him  ; 
and  Norroy  king  at  arms  advancing,  exhorted  him  to  span 


53        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

the  blood  of  his  friends,  and  to  yield  himself  a  prisoner. 
After  a  moment's  pause,  he  threw  away  his  sword,  and 
surrendered  to  Sir  Maurice  Berkeley,  who  carried  him  first 
to  the  Court,  and  thence  to  the  Tower. 


XII. 

THE  PROTESTANT  MARTYRS. 

GREEN. 

[Wyat's  revolt  brought  on  the  persecution  it  was  intended 
to  avert.  Mary  looked  on  all  Protestants  as  traitors, 
and  resolved  to  destroy  Protestantism.  A  law  was  passed 
against  heretics,  and  at  once  put  in  force.] 

Whether  from  without  or  from  within,  warning  was  wasted 
on  the  fierce  bigotry  of  the  Queen.  It  was,  as  Gardiner 
asserted,  not  at  the  counsel  of  her  ministers,  but  by  her  own 
personal  will  that  the  laws  against  heresy  had  been  laid 
before  Parliament ;  and  now  that  they  were  enacted  Mary 
pressed  for  their  execution.  Her  resolve  was  probably 
quickened  by  the  action  of  the  Protestant  zealots.  The 
failure  of  Wyat's  revolt  was  far  from  taming  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  wilder  reformers.  The  restoration  of  the  old 
worship  was  followed  by  outbreaks  of  bold  defiance.  A 
tailor  of  St.  Giles-in-the-Fields  shaved  a  dog  with  the 
priestly  tonsure.  A  cat  was  found  hanging  in  the  Cheap  1 
"  with  her  head  shorn,  and  the  likeness  of  a  vestment  cast 
over  her,  with  her  forefeet  tied  together,  and  a  round  piece 
of  paper  like  a  singing  cake  between  them."  Yet  more 
galling  were  the  ballads  which  were  circulated  in  mockery 
of  the  mass,  the  pamphlets  which   came   from  the  exiles 2 

1  Chcapside.  2  Many  of  the  Protestants  had  fled  for 

tafety  to  Switzerland  and  Germany. 


THE  PR<  'I  I     i  \\  r  MARTYRS. 

over  sea,  the  seditious  broadsides  dropped  in  the  streets, 
the  interludes8  in  which  the  most  sacred  acts  of  the  old 
religion  were  flouted  with  ribald  mockery.     All  this  defia 
only  served  to  quicken  afresh   the  purpose  of  the   Queen. 

But  it  was  not  till  the  opening  of  1555,  when  she  had 
already  been  a  year  and  a  half  on  the  throne,  that  the 
opposition  of  her  councillors  was  at  last  mastered,  and 
the  persecution  began.  In  February  the  deprived  Bishop 
of  Gloucester,  Hooper,  was  burned  in  his  cathedral  city, 
a  London  vicar,  Lawrence  Saunders,  at  Coventry,  and 
Rogers,  a  prebendary  of  St.  Paul's,  at  London.  Ferrar, 
the  deprived  Bishop  of  St.  David's,  who  was  burned  at 
Caermarthen,  was  one  of  eight  victims  who  suffered  in 
March.  Four  followed  in  April  and  May,  six  in  June, 
eleven  in  July,  eighteen  in  August,  eleven  in  September. 
In  October  Ridley,  the  deprived  Bishop  of  London,  was 
drawn  with  Latimer  from  their  prison  at  Oxford.  "  Play 
the  man,  Master  Ridley  ! "  cried  the  old  preacher  of  the 
Reformation,  as  the  flames  shot  up  around  him  ;  "we  shall 
this  day  light  up  such  a  candle  by  God's  grace  in  Fng' 
as  I  trust  shall  never  be  put  out." 

If  the  Protestants  had  not  known  how  to  govern  inde 
they  knew  how  to  die  ;  and  the  cause  which  prosperity  had 
ruined  revived  in  the  dark  hour  of  persecution.  The 
memory  of  their  violence  and  greed  faded  away  as  they 
passed  unwavering  to  their  doom.  Such  a  story  as  that  of 
Rowland  Taylor,  the  vicar  of  Hadleigh,  tells  us  more  of  the 
work  which  was  now  begun,  and  of  the  effect  it  was  likely 
to  produce,  than  pages  of  historic  dissertation.  Taylor, 
who  as  a  man  of  mark  had  been  one  of  the  first  victims 
chosen  for  execution,  was  arrested  in  London,  ami  con- 
demned to  suffer  in  his  own  parish.  His  wife,  "suspecting 
that  her  husband  should  that  night  be  carried  away,"  had 

3  Rhyming  play 


6o       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

waited  through  the  darkness  with  her  children  in  the  porch 

of  St.  Botolph's-beside-Aldgate. 

"  Now  when  the  sheriff  and  his  company  came  against 
St.  Botolph's  Church,  Elizabeth  cried,  saying,  'O  my  dear 
father !  Mother !  mother !  here  is  my  father  led  away  ! ' 
Then  cried  his  wife,  'Rowland,  Rowland,  whe.e  art  thou?' 

or  it  was  a  very  dark  morning,  that  the  one  could  not 
see  the  other.  Dr.  Taylor  answered,  '  I  am  here,  dear 
wife,'  and  stayed.  The  sheriff's  men  would  have  led  him 
forth,  but  the  sheriff  said,  '  Stay  a  little,  masters,  I  pray  you, 
and  let  him  speak  to  his  wife.'  Then  came  she  to  him, 
and  he  took  his  daughter  Mary  in  his  arms,  and  he  and  his 
wife  and  Elizabeth  knelt  down  and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer. 
At  which  sight  the  sheriff  wept  apace,  and  so  did  divers 
others  of  the  company.  After  they  had  prayed,  he  rose  up 
and  kissed  his  wife  and  shook  her  by  the  hand,  and  said, 
'  Farewell,  my  dear  wife,  be  of  good  comfort,  for  I  am 
quiet  in  my  conscience  !  God  shall  still  be  a  father  to  my 
children.'  .  .  .  Then  said  his  wife,  '  God  be  with  thee,  dear 
Rowland  !  I  will,  with  God's  grace,  meet  thee  at  Hadleigh.' 
"All  the  way  Dr.  Taylor  was  merry  and  cheerful  as  one 
that  accounted  himself  going  to  a  most  pleasant  banquet  or 
bridal.  .  .  .  Coming  within  two  miles  of  Hadleigh  he 
desired  to  light  off  his  horse,  which  done,  he  leaped  and 
sec  a  frisk  or  twain  as  men  commonly  do  for  dancing. 
'  Why,  Master  Doctor,'  quoth  the  sheriff,  '  how  do  you 
now  ? '  He  answered,  '  Well,  God  be  praised,  Master 
Sheriff,  never  better,  for  now  I  know  that  I  am  almost  at 
home.  I  lack  not  past  two  stiles  to  go  over,  and  I  am 
even  at  my  Father's  house  ! '  The  streets  of  Hadleigh 
were  beset  on  both  sides  with  men  and  women  of  the  town 
and  country  who  waited  to  see  him  whom  when  they  beheld 

o  led  to  death,  with  weeping  eyes  and  lamentable  voices, 
[they  cried,  '  Ah,  good  Lord  !  there  goeth  our  good  shepherd 


TIIK  PROTESTANT  MARTYRS.  61 

from  us  ! '"     The  journey  was  at  ]  r.     "-What  place 

is  this,'  he  asked,  'and  what  meaneth  it  that  so  much  people 
arc  gathered  together?'     It  was  answered, 'It  is  Oldham 

imon,  the  place  where  you  must  suffer,  and  the 
are  come  to  look  upon  you.'  Then  said  he,  'Thanked  be 
God,  I  am  even  at  home  !'  But  when  the  people  saw  his 
reverend  and  ancient  face,  with  a  long  white  beard,  they 
burst  out  with  weeping  tears  and  cried,  saying,  '  God  save 
thee,  good  Dr.  Taylor;  God  strengthen  thee,  and  help 
thee  ;  the  Holy  Ghost  comfort  thee  ! '  He  wished,  but  was 
not  suffered,  to  speak.  When  he  had  prayed,  he  went  to 
the  stake  and  kissed  it,  and  set  himself  into  a  pitch-barrel 
which  they  had  set  for  him  to  stand  on,  and  so  stood  with 
his  back  upright  against  the  stake,  with  his  hands  folded 
together  and  his  eyes  towards  heaven,  and  so  let  himself 
be  burned."  One  of  the  executioners  cruelly  cast  a  faggot 
at  him,  which  hit  upon  his  head  and  brake  his  face  that  the 
blood  ran  down  his  visage.  Then  said  Dr.  Taylor,  "  Oh 
friend,  I  have  harm  enough,  what  needed  that?"  One 
more  act  of  brutality  brought  his  sufferings  to  an  end.  "  So 
stood  he  still  without  either  crying  or  moving,  with  his 
hands  folded  together,  till  Soyce  with  a  halberd  struck 
him  on  the  head  that  the  brains  fell  out,  and  the  dead 
corpse  fell  down  into  the  fire." 

The  terror  of  death  was  powerless  against  men  like 
these.  Bonner,  the  Bishop  of  London,  to  whom,  as  bishop 
of  the  diocese  in  which  the  Council  sate,  its  victims  were 
generally  delivered  for  execution,  but  who,  in  spite  of  the 
nickname  and  hatred  which  his  official  prominence  in  the 
work  of  death  earned  him,  seems  to  have  been  naturally  a 
good-humoured  and  merciful  man,  asked  a  youth  who  was 
brought  before  him  whether  he  thought  h>°  could  bear  the 
fire.  The  boy  at  once  held  his  hand  without  flinching 
in  the  flame  of  a  candle  that  stood  by.     Rogers,  a  fellow 

10* 


I  2        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

worker  with  Tyndale  in   the  translation  of  the  Bible,  and 
one  of  the  foremost  among  the  Protestant  preachers,  died 
bathing  his  hands  in  the  flame  "  as  if  it  had  been  in  cold 
water."     Even  the  commonest  lives  gleamed  for  a  moment 
into  poetry  at  the  stake.     "  Pray  for  me,"  a  boy,  William 
Brown,  who  had  been  brought  home  to  Brentwood  to  suffer, 
asked  of  the  bystanders.     "  I  will  pray  no  more  for  thee," 
one  of  them  replied,  "  than  I  will  pray  for  a  dog."    "  '  Then,' 
said  William,   '  Son   of  God,  shine  upon  me ; '  and  imme- 
diately the  sun  in  the  elements  shone  out  of  a  dark  cloud 
so  full  in  his  face  that  he  was  constrained  to  look  another 
way ;  whereat  the  people  mused  because  it  was  so  dark  a 
little   time    before."      Brentwood   lay   within   a  district   on 
which  the  hand  of  the  Queen  fell  heavier  than  elsewhere. 
The  persecution   was  mainly  confined   to  the  more  active 
and    populous    parts    of    the    country,   to    London,    Kent, 
Sussex,  and  the   Eastern  Counties.     Of  the  two   hundred 
and  eighty  whom  we  know  to  have  suffered  during  the  last 
three  years  and  a  half  of  Mary's  reign  more  than  forty  were 
burned  in  London,  seventeen  in  the  neighbouring  village  of 
Stratford-le-Bow,  four  in  Islington,  two  in  Southwark,  and 
one  each  at  Barnet,  St.  Albans,  and  Ware.     Kent,  at  that 
time  a  home  of  mining  and  manufacturing  industry,  suffered 
as    heavily  as    London.     Of    its   sixty  martyrs   more    than 
forty  were  furnished  by  Canterbury,  which  was  then  but  a 
city    of    some    few    thousand    inhabitants,    and    seven    by 
Maidstone.     The  remaining   eight   suffered    at  Rochester, 
Ashford,   and  Dartford.     Of   the  twenty-five  who    died  in 
Sussex,  the  little  town  of  Lewes  sent  seventeen  to  the  fire. 
Seventy  were  contributed  by  the  Eastern  Counties,  the  seat 
of  the  woollen  manufacture.     Beyond  these  districts  execu- 
tions were  rare.     Westward  of  Sussex  we  find  the  record  of 
but  a  dozen  martyrdoms,  six  of  which  were  at  Bristol,  and 
four  at  Salisbury.     Chester  and  Wales  contributed  but  four 


PHILIP  OF  SPAIN. 

sufferers  to  the  list.     In   the   Midland  Counties   b 

the    Thames    and    the    I  lumber   only    twenty-four    suffei 
martyrdom.     North  of  the  Humber  we  find  the  names  of 
but  two  Yorkshiremen,  burned  at  Bedale. 


XIII. 

PHILIP  OF  SPAIN'. 

MACAULAY. 

[The  persecution  ended  with  Mary's  death  ;  and  her  sister 
Elizabeth,  who  succeeded  her,  again  restored  Protestant- 
ism to  its  old  supremacy.  The  reign  of  Elizabeth  was 
the  greatest  in  our  history ;  and  under  her  England  rose 
to  a  power  and  grandeur  it  had  never  known  before. 
During  the  earlier  part  of  her  reign  she  had  to  struggle 
against  Mary  Stuart,  the  Queen  of  Scotland,  who  claimed 
her  throne,  and  was  backed  by  the  English  Catholics: 
in  her  later  years  she  had  to  struggle  against  Philip  of 
Spain.  Philip  was  eager  to  crush  Protestantism  in  Western 
Europe,  and  this  could  only  be  done  by  crushing  England. 
He  was  still  more  anxious  to  keep  Englishmen  out  of  the 
seas  of  the  New  World,  which  he  claimed  as  his  own. 
The  contest  with  Philip  was  the  greatest  war  which 
England  had  ever  waged  :  and  it  was  in  lighting  him  that 
she  laid  the  foundation  of  her  empire  over  the  sea.] 

The  empire  of  Philip  the  Second  was  undoubtedly  one 
of  the  most  powerful  and  splendid  that  ever  existed  in  the 
world.  In  Europe,  he  ruled  Spain,  Portugal,  the  Nether- 
lands on  both  sides  of  the  Rhine,  Franche  Comte,  Rous- 
sillon,  the  Milanese,  and  the  Two  Sicilies.  Tuscany,  Parma, 
ai  d  the  other  small  states  of  Italy,  were  as  completely 
dependent  on  him  as  the  Nizam  and  the  Rajah  ol  Berar 
now  are  on  the  East  India  Company.  In  Asia,  the  King 
of  Spain  was  master  of  the  Philippines  and  oi  all  ihoserkh 


64       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

settlements  which  the  Portuguese  had  made  on  the  coast  of 
Malabar  and  Coromandel,  in  the  Peninsula  of  Malacca, 
and  in  the  Spice-Islands  of  the  Eastern  Archipelago.1  In 
America  his  dominions  extended  on  each  side  of  the 
equator  into  the  temperate  zone.  There  is  reason  to 
believe  that  his  annual  revenue  amounted,  in  the  season 
of  his  greatest  pov/er,  to  a  sum  near  ten  times  as  large  as 
that  which  England  yielded  to  Elizabeth.  He  had  a  stand 
ing  army  of  fifty  thousand  excellent  troops,  at  a  time  when 
England  had  not  a  single  battalion  in  constant  pay.  His 
ordinary  naval  force  consisted  of  a  hundred  and  forty 
galleys.  He  held,  what  no  other  prince  in  modern  times 
has  held,  the  dominion  both  of  the  land  and  of  the  sea. 
During  the  greater  part  of  his  reign,  he  was  supreme  on 
both  elements.  Plis  soldiers  marched  up  to  the  capital  ot 
France  ;  his  ships  menaced  the  shores  of  England. 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that,  during  several  years,  his 
power  over  Europe  was  greater  than  even  that  of  Napoleon. 
The  influence  of  the  French  conqueror  never  extended 
beyond  low-water  mark.  The  narrowest  strait  was  to  his 
power  what  it  was  of  old  believed  that  a  running  stream  was 
to  the  sorceries  of  a  witch.  While  his  army  entered  every 
metropolis  from  Moscow  to  Lisbon,  the  English  fleets 
blockaded  every  port  from  Dantzic  to  Trieste.  Sicily, 
Sardinia,  Majorca,  Guernsey,  enjoyed  security  through  the 
whole  course  of  a  war  which  endangered  every  throne  on 
the  Continent.  The  victorious  and  imperial  nation  which 
had  filled  its  museums  with  the  spoils  of  Antwerp,  of 
Florence,  and  of  Rome,  was  suffering  painfully  from  the 
want  of  luxuries  which  use  had  made  necessaries.  While 
pillars  and  arches  were  rising  to  commemorate  the  French 
conquests,  the  conquerors  were  trying  to  manufacture  coffee 
out  of  succory  and  sugar  out  of  beet-root.  The  influence 
'  Philip  conquered  Portugal  and  seized  ils  colonies. 


PHILIP  or  SPAIN.  (>s 

of  Philip  on  the  Continent  was  as  great  as  that  of  Napol 
The  Emperor  of  Germany  was  his  kinsman.  France,  torn 
by  religious  dissensions,  was  never  a  formidable  opponent, 
and  was  sometimes  a  dependent  ally.  At  the  same  time 
Spain  had  what  Napoleon  desired  in  vain,  ships,  colonics, 
and  commerce.  She  long  monopolised  the  trade  of 
America  and  of  the  Indian  Ocean.  All  the  gold  of  the 
West,  and  all  the  spices  of  the  East,  were  received  and  dis- 
tributed by  her.  During  many  years  of  war  her  commerce 
was  interrupted  only  by  the  predatory  enterprises  of  a  few 
roving  privateers.  Even  after  the  defeat  of  the  Armada 
English  statesmen  continued  to  iook  with  great  dread  on 
the  maritime  power  of  Philip.  "  The  King  of  Spain,"  said 
the  Lord  Keeper  to  the  two  Houses  in  1593,  "since  he 
hath  usurped  upon  the  kingdom  of  Portugal,  hath  thereby 
grown  mighty,  by  gaining  the  East  Indies  :  so  as,  how  great 
soever  he  was  before,  he  is  now  thereby  manifestly  more 
great  :  .  .  .  He  keepeth  a  navy  armed  to  impeach  all 
trade  of  merchandise  from  England  to  Gascoigne  and 
Guienne,  which  he  attempted  to  do  this  last  vintage;  so  as 
he  is  now  become  as  a  frontier  enemy  to  all  the  west  of 
England,  as  well  as  all  the  south  parts,  as  Sussex,  Hamp- 
shire, and  the  Isle  of  Wight.  Yea,  by  means  of  his  inter- 
est in  St.  Maloes,  a  port  full  of  shipping  for  the  war,  he 
is  a  dangerous  neighbour  to  the  Queen's  isles  of  Jersey 
and  Guernsey,  ancient  possessions  of  this  crown,  and  never 
conquered  in  the  greatest  wars  with  France." 

The  ascendency  which  Spain  then  had  in  Europe  was,  in 
one  sense,  well  deserved.  It  was  an  ascendency  which  had 
been  gained  by  unquestioned  superiority  in  all  the  arts  of 
policy  and  of  war.  In  the  sixteenth  century,  Italy  was  not 
more  decidedly  the  land  of  the  fine  arts,  Germany  was  not 
more  decidedly  the  land  of  bold  theological  speculation, 
than  Spain  was  the  land  of  statesmen  and  of  soldiers.    The 


66       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

character  which  Virgil  has  ascribed  to  his  countrymen 
might  have  been  claimed  by  the  grave  and  haughty  chiefs 
who  surrounded  the  throne  of  Ferdinand  the  Catholic  and 
of  his  immediate  successors.  That  majestic  art,  "  regere 
imperio  populos,"  was  not  better  understood  by  the  Romans 
in  the  proudest  days  of  their  republic  than  by  Gonsalvo 
and  Ximenes,  Cortes  and  Alva.  The  skill  of  the  Spanish 
diplomatists  was  renowned  throughout  Europe.  In  Eng- 
land the  name  of  Gondomar  is  still  remembered.  The 
sovereign  nation  was  unrivalled  both  in  regular  and  irregular 
warfare.  The  impetuous  chivalry  of  France,  the  serried 
phalanx  of  Switzerland,  were  alike  found  wanting  when 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  Spanish  infantry.  In  the  wars 
of  the  New  World,  where  something  different  from  ordi- 
nary strategy  was  required  in  the  general  and  something 
different  from  ordinary  discipline  in  the  soldier,  where  it 
was  every  day  necessary  to  meet  by  some  new  expedient 
the  varying  tactics  of  a  barbarous  enemy,  the  Spanish  ad- 
venturers, sprung  from  the  common  people,  displayed  a 
fertility  of  resource,  and  a  talent  for  negotiation  and  com- 
mand, to  which  history  scarcely  affords  a  parallel. 

The  Castilian  of  those  times  was  to  the  Italian  what  the 
Roman,  in  the  days  of  the  greatness  of  Rome,  was  to  the 
Greek.  The  conqueror  had  less  ingenuity,  less  taste,  less 
delicacy  of  perception  than  the  conquered  ;  but  far  more 
pride,  firmness,  and  courage,  a  more  solemn  demeanour,  a 
stronger  sense  of  honour.  The  subject  had  more  subtlety 
in  speculation,  the  ruler  more  energy  in  action.  The  vices 
of  the  former  were  those  of  a  coward  ;  the  vices  of  the 
latter  were  those  of  a  tyrant.  It  may  be  added,  that  the 
Spaniard,  like  the  Roman,  did  not  disdain  to  study  the  arts 
and  the  language  of  those  whom  he  oppressed.  A  revolu- 
tion took  place  in  the  literature  of  Spain,  not  unlike  that 
revolution   which,  as   Horacs    tells    us,   took    place    in   ,>,n 


PHILIP  OK  SPAIN.  67 

poetry  of  Latium.  The  slave  took  prisoner  the  enslaver. 
The  old  Castilian  ballads  gave  place  to  sonnets  in  the  style 
of  Petrarch  and  to  heroic  poems  in  the  stanza  of  Ariosto, 
as  the  national  songs  of  Rome  were  driven  out  by  imita- 
tions of  Theocritus   and  translations  from  Menander. 

In  no  modern  society,  not  even  in  England  during  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth,  has  there  been  so  great  a  number  of 
men  eminent  at  once  in  literature  and  in  the  pursuits  of 
active  life,  as  Spain  produced  during  the  sixteenth  century. 
Almost  every  distinguished  writer  was  also  distinguished  as 
a  soldier  or  politician.  Boscan  bore  arms  with  high  repu- 
tation. Garcilaso  de  Vega,  the  author  of  the  sweetest  and 
most  graceful  pastoral  poem  of  modern  times,  after  a  short 
but  splendid  military  career,  fell  sword  in  hand  at  the  head 
of  a  storming  party.  Alonzo  de  Ercilla  bore  a  conspicuous 
part  in  that  war  of  Arauco,  which  he  afterwards  celebrated 
in  one  of  the  best  heroic  poems  that  Spain  has  produced. 
Hurtado  de  Mendoza,  whose  poems  have  been  compared  to 
those  of  Horace,  and  whose  charming  little  novel  is  evi- 
dently the  model  of  Gil  Bias,  has  been  handed  down  to  us 
by  history  as  one  of  the  sternest  of  those  iron  proconsuls 
who  were  employed  by  the  House  of  Austria  to  crush 
the  lingering  public  spirit  of  Italy.  Lope  sailed  in  the 
Armada  ;  Cervantes  2  was  wounded  at  Lepanto.3 

It  is  curious  to  consider  with  how  much  awe  our  ancestors 
in  those  times  regarded  a  Spaniard.  He  was,  in  their  ap- 
prehension, a  kind  of  daemon,  horribly  malevolent,  but 
withal  most  sagacious  and  powerful.  "  They  be  verve  wyse 
and  politicke,"  says  an  honest  Englishman,  in  a  memorial 
addressed  to  Mary,  "and  can,  thorowe  ther  wysdome,  re- 
form and  brydell  theyr  owne  natures  for  a  tyme,  and  applye 
their  conditions  to  the  maners   of  those  men  with  whom 

*  The  author  of  "  Don  Qtiixote."  3  Philips  fleet, 

th-e  Venetians,  overthrew  the  Turks  at  Lepanto. 


PROSE  READINGS  FROM   ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

they  meddell  gladlye  by  friendshippe  ;  whose  mischievous 
maners  a  man  shall  never  knowe  untyll  he  come  under  ther 
subjection  ;  but  then  shall  he  parfectlye  parceyve  and  fele 
them  :  which  thynge  I  praye  God  England  never  do  :  for  in 
dissimulations  untyll  they  have  ther  purposes,  and  after- 
wards in  oppression  and  tyrannye,  when  they  can  obtayne 
them,  they  do  exceed  all  other  nations  upon  the  earthe." 
This  is  just  such  language  as  Arminius  4  would  have  used 
about  the  Romans,  or  as  an  Indian  statesman  of  our  times 
might  use  about  the  English.  It  is  the  language  of  a  man 
burning  with  hatred,  but  cowed  by  those  whom  he  hates ; 
and  painfully  sensible  of  their  superiority,  not  only  in  power, 
but  in  intelligence. 

XIV. 

RALEIGH  AND  VIRGINIA 

BANCROFT. 

[While  men  like  Drake  were  challenging  Spain  upon  the 
seas,  wiser  and  nobler  Englishmen  were  striving  to  plant 
colonies  which  should  make  the  New  World  English 
instead  of  Spanish  ground.  Of  these  the  chief  were  Sir 
Humphry  Gilbert  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  Unsuccessful 
as  they  were,  it  was  through  their  efforts  that  the  first 
settlements  were  founded,  which  have  since  grown  into 
the  United  States  of  North  America.] 

While  the  Queen  and  her  adventurers  were  dazzled  by 
dreams  of  finding  gold  in  the  frozen  regions  of  the  north,1 
Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert,  with  a  sounder  judgment  and  better 
knowledge,  watched  the  progress  of  the  fisheries,2  and  formed 
healthy  plans  for  colonisation.     He  had  been  a  soldier  and 

4  Arminius  headed  the  resistance  of  the  Germans  to  Rome. 

1  Frobisher  and  other  adventurers  had.  hoped  to  find  gold  in 
Labrador.  s  Of  Newfoundland  and  the  North  American 

coast. 


RALEIGH  AND  VIRGINIA. 

a  member  of  parliament ;  had  written  judiciously  on  na\  i 
tion  ;  and,  though  censured  for  his  ignorance  of  the  principles 
of  liberty,  was  esteemed  for  the  sincerity  of  his  piety.     Free 

alike  from  fickleness  and  tear,  danger  never  turned  him 
aside  from  the  pursuit  of  honour  or  the  service  of  his  sovereign; 
for  he  knew  that  death  is  inevitable,  and  the  fame  of  virtue 
immortal.  It  was  not  difficult  for  him  in  June,  1578,  to  ob- 
tain a  patent,  formed  according  to  the  commercial  theories 
of  that  day,  and  to  be  of  perpetual  efficacy,  if  a  plantation 
should  be  established  within  six  years.  To  the  people  who 
might  belong  to  his  colony,  the  rights  of  Englishmen  were 
promised ;  to  Gilbert,  the  possession  for  himself  or  his 
assigns  of  the  soil  which  he  might  discover,  and  the  sole 
jurisdiction,  both  civil  and  criminal,  of  the  territory  within 
two  hundred  leagues  of  his  settlement,  with  supreme 
executive  and  legislative  authority.  Under  this  patent, 
Gilbert  collected  a  company  of  volunteer  adventurers,  con- 
tributing largely  from  his  own  fortune  to  the  preparations. 
Jarrings  and  divisions  ensued,  before  the  voyage  was  begun  ; 
many  abandoned  what  they  had  inconsiderately  undertaken  ; 
in  1579,  the  general  and  a  few  of  his  assured  friends — 
among  them,  his  step-brother,  Walter  Raleigh — put  to  sea  : 
one  of  his  ships  was  lost ;  and  misfortune  compelled  the 
remainder  to  return.  Gilbert  attempted  to  keep  his  patent 
alive  by  making  grants  of  land:  none  of  his  a  signs  suc- 
ceeded in  establishing  a  colony ;  and  he  was  himself  too 
much  impoverished  to  renew  his  efforts. 

But  the  pupil  of  Coligny3  delighted  in  hazardous  adventure. 
To  prosecute  discoveries  in  the  New  World,  lay  the  founda- 
tion of  states,  and  acquire  immense  domains,  appeared  to 
Raleigh  an  easy  design,  which   would  not  interfere  with  the 

3  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  had  served  under  (he  Huguenot 
general  Coligny  in  the  Fieneli  wars  of  religion.  He  it/a* 
Gilbert  s  half  brother. 


70        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

pursuit  of  favour  in  England.  Before  the  limit  of  the 
charter  had  expired,  Gilbert,  assisted  by  his  brother, 
equipped  a  new  squadron.  In  1583  the  fleet  embarked 
under  happy  omens ;  the  commander,  on  the  eve  of  his 
departure,  received  from  Elizabeth,  as  a  token  of  regard,  a 
golden  anchor  guided  by  a  lady.  A  man  of  letters  from 
Hungary  accompanied  the  expedition;  and  some  part  of 
the  United  States  would  have  then  been  colonised  but  for 
a  succession  of  overwhelming  disasters.  Two  days  after 
leaving  Plymouth  the  largest  ship  in  the  fleet,  which  had 
been  furnished  by  Raleigh,  who  himself  remained  in  England, 
deserted  under  a  pretence  of  infectious  disease,  and  returned 
into  harbour.  Gilbert,  incensed  but  not  intimidated,  sailed 
for  Newfoundland ;  and,  in  August,  entering  St.  John's, 
he  summoned  the  Spaniards  and  Portuguese,4  and  other 
strangers,  to  witness  the  ceremonies  by  which  he  took 
possession  of  the  country  for  his  sovereign.  A  pillar,  on 
which  the  arms  of  England  were  infixed,  was  raised  as  a 
monument ;  the  lands  were  granted  to  the  fishermen  in  fee, 
on  condition  of  the  payment  of  a  quit-rent.  It  was  generally 
agreed  that  "  the  mountains  made  a  show  of  mineral  sub- 
stance;"  the  "mineral-man  "  of  the  expedition,  an  honest  and 
religious  Saxon,  protested  on  his  life  that  silver  ore  abounded. 
He  was  charged  to  keep  the  discovery  a  profound  secret ; 
and  the  precious  ore  was  carried  on  board  the  larger  ship 
with  such  mystery  that  the  dull  Portuguese  and  Spaniards 
suspected  nothing  of  the  matter. 

It  was  not  easy  for  Gilbert  to  preserve  order  in  the  little 
fleet,  Many  of  the  mariners,  infected  with  the  vices  which 
at  that  time  degraded  their  profession,  were  no  better  than 
pirates,  and  were  perpetually  bent  upon  pilbging  whatever 
chips  fell  in   their  way.     At  length,  having  abandoned  one 

*   The  Spaniards  and  Portuguese  claimed  all  the  New  World 
for  their  0201. 


RALEIGH  AND  VIRGINIA.  7, 

of  their  barks,  the  English,  now  in  three  vessels  only,  sailed 
on  further  discoveries,  intending  to  visit  the  coast  ol  the 
United  States.  But  they  had  not  proceeded  towards  the 
south  beyond  the  latitude  of  W 'iscussct,  when  the  largest 
ship,  from  the  carelessness  of  the  crew,  struck  and  was 
wrecked.  Nearly  a  hundred  men  perished ;  the  "mineral- 
man  "  and  the  ore  were  all  lost ;  nor  was  it  possible  to 
rescue  Parmenius,  the  Hungarian  scholar,  who  should  have 
been  the  historian  of  the  expedition.  It  now  seemed  neces- 
sary to  hasten  to  England.  Gilbert  had  sailed  in  the  Squirrel, 
a*  bark  often  tons  only,  and  therefore  convenient  for  entering 
harbours  and  approaching  the  coast.  On  the  homeward 
voyage,  he  would  not  forsake  his  little  company,  with  whom 
he  had  encountered  so  many  storms  and  perils.  A  desperate 
resolution  !  The  weather  was  extremely  rough  ;  the  oldest 
mariner  had  never  seen  "  more  outrageous  seas."  The  little 
frigate,  not  more  than  twice  as  large  as  the  long-boat  of  a 
merchantman,  "  too  small  a  bark  to  pass  through  the  ocean 
sea  at  that  season  of  the  year,"  was  nearly  wrecked.  That 
same  night  about  twelve  o'clock  its  lights  suddenly  disap 
peared;  and  neither  the  vessel  nor  any  of  the  crew  was 
ever  again  seen.     The  Hind  reached  Falmouth  in  safety. 

Raleigh,  not  disheartened  by  the  sad  fate  of  his  step- 
brother, revolved  a  settlement  in  the  milder  clime  from  which 
the  Protestants  of  France  had  been  expelled.  He  readily 
obtained  from  Elizabeth,  in  March,  1584,  a  patent  as  ample 
as  that  which  had  been  conferred  on  Gilbert.  It  was  drawn 
according  to  the  principles  of  feudal  law,  and  with  strict 
regard  to  the  Christian  faith,  as  professed  in  the  church  of 
England.  Raleigh  was  constituted  a  lord  proprietary,  with 
almost  unlimited  powers  ;  holding  his  territories  by  h 
and  an  inconsiderable  rent,  and  possessing  jurisdiction  over 
an  extensive  region,  of  which  he  had  |>  >wer  to  make  grants 
according  to  his  pleasure.      Expectations  rose  high,  sino 


72        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

balmy  regions  of  the  south  were  now  to  be  colonised.  Two 
vessels,  well  laden  with  men  and  provisions,  under  the  com- 
mand of  Philip  Amidas  and  Arthur  Barlow,  buoyant  with 
hope,  set  sail  for  the  New  World.  They  pursued  the  circui- 
tous route  by  the  Canaries  and  the  islands  of  the  West  Indies ; 
after  a  short  stay  at  those  islands,  they  sailed  for  the  north, 
and  were  soon  opposite  the  shores  of  Carolina.  As  in  July 
they  drew  near  land,  the  fragrance  was  "  as  if  they  had  been 
in  the  midst  of  some  delicate  garden,  abounding  with  all 
kinds  of  odoriferous  flowers."  Ranging  the  coast  for  one 
hundred  and  twenty  miles,  they  entered  the  first  convenient 
harbour,  and,  after  thanks  to  God  for  their  safe  arrival,  they 
took  possession  of  the  country  for  the  Queen  of  England. 

The  spot  on  which  this  ceremony  was  performed  was  in 
the  island  of  Wocoken,  the  southernmost  of  the  islands 
forming  Ocracoke  Inlet.  The  shores  of  North  Carolina,  at 
some  periods  of  the  year,  cannot  safely  be  approached  by  a 
fleet,  from  the  hurricanes  against  which  the  formation  of  the 
coast  offers  no  secure  roadsteads  and  harbours.  But  in  the 
month  of  July  the  air  was  agitated  by  none  but  the  gentlest 
breezes,  and  the  English  commanders  were  in  raptures  with 
the  beauty  of  the  ocean,  seen  in  the  magnificence  of  repose, 
gemmed  with  islands,  and  expanding  in  the  clearest  trans- 
parency from  cape  to  cape.  The  vegetation  of  that  southern 
latitude  struck  the  beholders  with  admiration  ;  the  trees  had 
not  their  paragons  ;  luxuriant  climbers  gracefully  festooned 
the  loftiest  cedars  ;  wild  grapes  abounded  ;  and  natural  ar- 
bours formed  an  impervious  shade,  that  not  a  ray  of  the  suns 
of  July  could  penetrate.  The  forests  were  filled  with  birds  ; 
and,  at  the  discharge  of  an  arquebuse,  whole  flocks  would  arise, 
uttering  a  cry,  as  if  an  army  of  men  had  shouted  together. 

The   gentleness  of  the  tawny  inhabitants 5  appeared  in 
harmony  with  the  loveliness  of  the  scene.     The  desire  of 
5   The  Indians  of  North  America. 


RALEIGH  AND  VIRGINIA,  71 

traffic  overcame  their  timidity,  and  the  English  received  a 
friendly  welcome.  On  the  island  of  Roanoke,  they  were  en- 
tertained by  the  wife  of  Granganimeo,  father  of  Wingina, 
the  king,  with  the  refinements  of  Arcadian  hospitality. 
"The  people  were  most  gentle,  loving  and  faithful,  void  of 
all  guile  and  treason,  and  such  as  lived  after  the  manner  of 
the  golden  a^e."  They  had  no  cares  but  to  guard  against 
the  moderate  cold  of  a  short  winter,  and  to  gather  such  food 
as  the  earth  almost  spontaneously  produced.  And  yet  it 
was  added,  with  singular  want  of  comparison,  that  the  wars 
of  these  guileless  men  were  cruel  and  bloody;  that  domestic 
dissensions  had  almost  exterminated  whole  tribes  ;  that  they 
employed  the  basest  stratagems  against  their  enemies;  and 
that  the  practice  of  inviting  men  to  a  feast,  to  murder  them 
in  the  hour  of  confidence,  was  not  exclusively  a  device  of 
European  bigots,  but  was  known  to  the  natives  of  Secotan. 
The  English,  too,  were  solicited  to  engage  in  a  similar 
enterprise  under  promise  of  lucrative  booty. 

The  adventurers  were  satisfied  with  observing  the  gener d 
aspect  of  the  New  World  ;  no  extensive  examination  of  the 
coast  was  undertaken  ;  Pamlico  and  Albemarle  Sound  and 
Roanoke  Island  were  explored,  and  some  information 
gathered  by  inquiries  from  the  Indians;  the  commanders 
had  not  the  courage  or  the  activity  to  survey  the  country 
with  exactness.  Having  made  but  a  short  stay  in  America, 
they  arrived  in  September  in  the  west  of  England,  accom- 
panied by  Manteo  and  Wanchese,  two  natives  of  the 
wilderness ;  and  the  returning  voyagers  gave  such  glowing 
descriptions  of  their  discoveries  as  might  be  expected  from 
men  who  had  done  no  more  than  sail  over  the  smooth 
waters  of  a  summer's  sea,  among  "  the  hundred  islands  "  of 
North  Carolina.  Elizabeth  esteemed  her  reign  signalized 
by  the  discovery  of  the  enchanting  regions,  and,  as  a 
memorial  of  her  state  of  life,  named  them  Virginia. 


74        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

XV. 
THE  FIRST  DAY'S  FIGHT  WITH  THE  ARMADA, 

MOTLEY. 

T Philip  at  last  resolved  to  make  an  effort  for  the  conquest 
of  England,  and  gathered  a  great  fleet  in  the  Tagus,  and 
an  army  in  Flanders,  for  that  purpose.  The  Armada,  as 
the  fleet  was  called,  was  ordered  to  sail  through  the 
Channel  to  the  Flemish  coast  to  join  the  army  there,  and 
protect  its  crossing  to  England.  After  long  delays  the 
Spaniards  put  to  sea,  and  the  vast  armament  entered  the 
Channel.] 

On  Friday,  the  29th  of  July,  1588,  off  the  Lizard,  the 
Spaniards  had  their  first  glimpse  of  the  land  of  promise 
presented  them  by  Sixtus  V.,1  of  which  they  had  at  last 
come  to  take  possession.  On  the  same  day  and  night  the 
blaze  and  smoke  of  ten  thousand  beacon-fires  from  the 
Land's  End  to  Margate,  and  from  the  Isle  of  Wight  to 
Cumberland,  gave  warning  to  every  Englishman  that  the 
enemy  was  at  last  upon  them.  Almost  at  that  very  instant 
intelligence  had  been  brought  from  the  court  to  the  Lord- 
Admiral2  at  Plymouth,  that  the  Armada,  dispersed  and 
shattered  by  the  gales  of  June,  was  not  likely  to  make  its 
appearance  that  year ;  and  orders  had  consequently  been 
given  to  disarm  the  four  largest  ships  and  send  them  into 
dock.  Even  the  shrewd  Walsingham 3  had  participated 
in  this  strange  delusion.  Before  Howard  had  time  of 
act  upon  this  ill-timed  suggestion — even  had  he  been  dis- 
posed to  do  so — he  received  authentic  intelligence  that  the 

1  The  Pope,  who  had  aided  the  enterprise,  and  pro?nised  it 
success.  2  Lord  Howard  of  Effingham,  whose  fleet  lay  at 

Plymouth.      With  him  were  Drake,  Frobisher,  and  other  great 
seamen.  3  Elizabeth's  foreign  set  retary. 


THE  FIRST  DAY'S  FIGHT  WITH  THE  ARMADA.      75 

great   fleet  was  ofT   the   Lizard.      Neither  he  nor    Francis 
Drake  were  the  men    to  lose  time  in  such  an  my, 

and  before  that   Friday  night  was  spent,  sixty  of  the  ! 
English  ships  had  been  warped  out  of  Plymouth  harbour. 

On  Saturday,  30th  July,  the  wind  was  very  light  at  south- 
west, with  a  mist  and  drizzling  rain,  but  by  three  in  the 
afternoon  the  two  fleets  could  descry  and  count  each  other 
through  the  haze. 

By  nine  o'clock,  31st  July,  about  two  miles  from  Looc,  on 
the  Cornish  coast,  the  fleets  had  their  meeting.  There  were 
136  sail  of  the  Spaniards,  of  which  ninety  were  large  ships, 
and  sixty-seven  of  the  English.  It  was  a  solemn  moment. 
The  long-expected  Armada  presented  a  pompous,  almost 
a  theatrical  appearance.  The  ships  seemed  arranged  for  a 
pageant  in  honour  of  a  victory  already  won.  Disposed  in 
form  of  a  crescent,  the  horns  of  which  were  seven  miles 
asunder,  those  gilded,  towered,  floating  castles,  with  their 
gaudy  standards  and  their  martial  music,  moved  slowly 
along  the  Channel  with  an  air  of  indolent  pomp.  Their 
captain-general,  the  Golden  Duke,4  stood  in  his  private  shot- 
proof  fortress  on  thedeck  of  hisgreat  galleon  the  Saint  Martin, 
surrounded  by  generals  of  infantry  and  colonels  of  cavalry, 
who  knew  as  little  as  he  did  himself  of  naval  matters.  The 
English  vessels,  on  the  other  hand — with  a  few  exceptions, 
light,  swift,  and  easily  handled — could  sail  round  and  round 
those  unwieldy  galleons,  hulks,  and  galleys  rowed  by  fettered 
slave-gangs.  The  superior  seamanship  of  free  Englishmen, 
commanded  by  such  experienced  captains  as  Drake,  Fro- 
bisher,  and  Hawkins — from  infancy  at  home  on  blue  water 
— was  manifest  in  the  very  first  encounter.  They  obtained 
the  weather-gage  at  once,  and  cannonaded  the  enemy  at 
intervals  with  considerable  effect,  easily  escaping  at  will  out 
of  range  of  the  sluggish  Armada,  which  was  incapable  of 
*  The  Duke  of  Medina-Sidonia,  utmanded  the  Armada. 


76       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

bearing  sail  in  pursuit,  although  provided  with  an  armament 
which  could  sink  all  its  enemies  at  close  quarters.  "  We 
had  some  small  fight  with  them  that  Sunday  afternoon," 
said  Hawkins. 

Medina-Sidonia  hoisted  the  royal  standard  at  the  fore, 
and  the  whole  fleet  did  its  utmost,  which  was  little,  to  offer 
general  battle.  It  was  in  vain.  The  English,  following  at 
the  heels  of  the  enemy,  refused  all  such  invitations,  and  at- 
tacked only  the  rear-guard  of  the  Armada,  where  Recalde 
commanded.  That  admiral,  steadily  maintaining  his  post, 
faced  his  nimble  antagonists,  who  continued  to  teaze,  to 
maltreat,  and  to  elude  him,  while  the  rest  of  the  fleet  pro- 
ceeded slowly  up  the  Channel,  closely  followed  by  the 
enemy.  And  thus  the  running  fight  continued  along  the 
coast,  in  full  view  of  Plymouth,  whence  boats  with  reinforce- 
ments and  volunteers  were  perpetually  arriving  to  the  English 
ships,  until  the  battle  had  drifted  quite  out  of  reach  of 
the  town. 

Already  in  this  first  "  small  fight  "  the  Spaniards  had 
learned  a  iesson,  and  might  even  entertain  a  doubt  of  their 
invincibility.  But  before  the  sun  set  there  were  more  serious 
disasters.  Much  powder  and  shot  had  been  expended  by  the 
Spaniards  to  very  little  purpose,  and  so  a  master-gunner  on 
board  Admiral  Oquendo's  flag-ship  was  reprimanded  for 
careless  ball-practice.  The  gunner,  who  was  a  Fleming, 
enraged  with  his  captain,  laid  a  train  to  the  powder-magazine, 
fired  it,  and  threw  himself  into  the  sea.  The  two  decks 
blew  up.  The  great  castle  at  the  stern  rose  into  the  clouds, 
carrying  with  it  the  paymaster-general  of  the  fleet,  a  large 
portion  of  treasure,  and  nearly  two  hundred  men.  The 
ship  was  a  wreck,  but  it  was  possible  to  save  the  rest  of  the 
crew.  So  Medina-Sidonia  sent  light  vessels  to  remove 
them,  and  wore  with  his  flagship  to  defend  Oquendo,  who 
had  already  been  fastened  upon  by  his  English  pursuers.    But 


THE  FIRST  DAY'S  FIGHT  WITH  THE  ARMADA.      77 

the  Spaniards,  not  being  so  light  in  hand  as  their  enemies 
involved  themselves  in  much  embarrassment  by  this  ma- 
noeuvre ;  and  there  was  much  falling  foul  of  each  other, 
entanglement  of  rigging,  and  carrying  away  of  yards. 
Oquendo's  men,  however,  were  ultimately  saved,  and  taken 
to  other  ships. 

Meantime  Don  Pedro  de  Valdez,  commander  of  the 
Andalusian  squadron,  having  got  his  galleon  into  collision 
with  two  or  three  Spanish  ships  successively,  had  at  last 
carried  away  his  fore-mast  close  to  the  deck,  and  the  wreck 
had  fallen  against  his  main-mast.  He  lay  crippled  and 
helpless,  the  Armada  was  slowly  deserting  him,  night  was 
coming  on,  the  sea  was  running  high,  and  the  English,  ever 
hovering  near,  were  ready  to  grapple  with  him.  In  vain  did 
Don  Pedro  fire  signals  of  distress.  The  captain-general — 
even  as  though  the  unlucky  galleon  had  not  been  connected 
with  the  Catholic  fleet — calmly  fired  a  gun  to  collect  his 
scattered  ships,  and  abandoned  Valdez  to  his  fate.  "  He 
left  me  comfortless  in  sight  of  the  whole  fleet,"  said  poor 
Pedro,  "  and  greater  inhumanity  and  unthankfulness  I  think 
was  never  heard  of  among  men." 

Yet  the  Spaniard  comported  himself  most  gallantly. 
Frobisher,  in  the  largest  ship  of  the  English  fleet,  the 
Triumph,  of  noo  tons,  and  Hawkins  in  the  Victory,  of 
800,  cannonaded  him  at  a  distance,  but,  night  coming  on, 
he  was  able  to  resist ;  and  it  was  not  till  the  following 
morning  that  he  surrendered  to  the  Revenge. 

Drake  then  received  the  gallant  prisoner  on  board  his 
flagship — much  to  the  disgust  and  indignation  of  Frobisher 
and  Hawkins,  thus  disappointed  of  their  prize  and  ransom- 
money — treated  him  with  much  courtesy,  and  gave  his  word 
of  honour  that  he  and  his  men  should  be  treated  fairly,  like 
good  prisoners  of  war.  This  pledge  was  redeemed,  for  it  was 
not  the  English,  as  it  was  the  Spanish  custom,  to  convert 
11 


78        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY". 

captives  into  slaves,  but  only  to  hold  them  for  ransom. 
Valdez  responded  to  Drake's  politeness  by  kissing  his  hand, 
embracing  him,  and  overpowering  him  with  magnificent  com- 
pliments. He  was  then  sent  on  board  the  Lord-Admiral, 
who  received  him  with  similar  urbanity,  and  expressed  his 
regret  that  so  distinguished  a  personage  should  have  been  so 
coolly  deserted  by  the  Duke  of  Medina.  Don  Pedro  then 
returned  to  the  Revenge,  where,  as  the  guest  of  Drake,  he 
was  a  witness  to  all  subsequent  events  up  to  the  ioth  of 
August,  on  which  day  he  was  sent  to  London  with  some 
other  officers,  Sir  Francis  claiming  his  ransom  as  his 
lawful  due. 

Here  certainly  was  no  very  triumphant  beginning  for  the 
Invincible  Armada.  On  the  very  first  day  of  their  being 
in  presence  of  the  English  fleet — then  but  sixty-seven  in 
number,  and  vastly  their  inferior  in  size  and  weight  of 
metal — they  had  lost  the  flagships  of  the  Guipuzcoan  and 
of  the  Andalusian  squadrons,  with  a  general-admiral,  450 
officers  and  men,  and  some  100,000  ducats  of  treasure. 
They  had  been  out-manceuvred,  out-sailed,  and  thoroughly 
maltreated  by  their  antagonists,  and  they  had  been  unable 
to  inflict  a  single  blow  in  return. 


XVI. 
THE  LAST  DAY'S  FIGHT  WITH  THE  ARMADA. 

MOTLEY. 

[Throughout  a  whole  week  the  running  fight  went  on,  the 
Armada  slowly  making  its  way  along  the  Channel,  the 
English  ships  hanging  on  its  rear.  Many  Spanish  ships 
were  sunk  or  taken  ;  but  the  great  fleet  still  remained  for- 
midable when,  in  spite  of  its  enemies,  it  at  last  reached 


THE  LAST  DAY'S  FIGHT  WITH  THE  ARMADA.      70 

the  Flemish  coast.  If  it  was  to  be  prevented  from  em- 
barking  the  army  which  was  destined  for  the  invasion  of 
England,  a  great  engagement  was  now  necessary;  and 
the  English  seamen  resolved  to  engage.] 

The  Lord-Admiral,  who  had  been  lying  off  ami  on,  now 
bore  away  with  all  his  force  in  pursuit  of  the  Spaniards. 
The  Invincible  Armada,  already  sorely  crippled,  was  stand- 
ing n.n.e.  directly  before  a  fresh  topsail  breeze  from  the 
s.s.w.  The  English  came  up  with  them  soon  after  nine 
o'clock  a.m.  off  Gravelines,  and  found  them  sailing  in  a 
half-moon,  the  admiral  and  vice-admiral  in  the  centre,  and 
the  flanks  protected  by  the  three  remaining  galeasses  and 
by  the  great  galleons  of  Portugal. 

Seeing  the  enemy  approaching,  Medina  Sidonia  ordered 
his  whole  fleet  to  luff  to  the  wind,  and  prepare  for  action. 
The  wind,  shifting  a  few  points,  was  now  at  w.n.w.,  so  that 
the  English  had  both  the  weather-gage  and  the  tide  in  their 
favour.  A  general  combat  began  at  about  ten,  and  it  was 
soon  obvious  to  the  Spaniards  that  their  adversaries  were 
intending  warm  work.  Sir  Francis  Drake  in  the  Revenue, 
followed  by  Frobisher  in  'he  Triumph,  Hawkins  in  the 
Victory,  and  some  smaller  vessels,  made  the  first  attack 
upon  the  Spanish  flagships.  Lord  Henry  in  the  Rainbow, 
Sir  Henry  Palmer  in  the  Antelope,  and  others,  engaged  with 
three  of  the  largest  galleons  of  the  Armada,  while  Sir 
William  Winter  in  the  Vanguard,  supported  by  most  of  his 
squadron,  charged  the  starboard  wing. 

The  portion  of  the  fleet  thus  assaulted  fell  back  into  the 
main  body.  Four  of  the  ships  ran  foul  of  each  other,  and 
Winter,  driving  into  their  centre,  found  himself  within 
musket-shot  of  many  of  their  most  formidable  ships. 

"  I  tell  you,  on  the  credit  of  a  poor  gentleman,"  he  said, 
11  that  there  were  five  hundred  discharges  of  demi-cannon, 
culverin,  and  demi-culverin,  from  the    Vanguard;  and  when 


So      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

I  was  farthest  off  in  firing  my  pieces,  I  was  not  out  of  shot 
of  their  harquebus,  and  most  time  within  speech,  one  of 
another." 

The  battle  lasted  six  hours  long,  hot  and  furious  ;  for  now 
there  was  no  excuse  for  retreat  on  the  part  of  the  Spaniards, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  the  intention  of  the  Captain- 
General  to  return  to  his  station  off  Calais,1  if  it  were  within 
his  power.  Nevertheless  the  English  still  partially  main- 
tained the  tactics  which  had  proved  so  successful,  and  reso- 
lutely refused  the  fierce  attempts  of  the  Spaniards  to  lay 
themselves  alongside.  Keeping  within  musket-range,  the 
well-disciplined  English  mariners  poured  broadside  after 
broadside  against  the  towering  ships  of  the  Armada,  which 
afforded  so  easy  a  mark  ;  while  the  Spaniards,  on  their  part, 
found  it  impossible,  while  wasting  incredible  quantities  of 
powder  and  shot,  to  inflict  any  severe  damage  on  their 
enemies.  Throughout  the  action,  not  an  English  ship  was 
destroyed,  and  not  a  hundred  men  were  killed.  On  the 
other  hand,  all  the  best  ships  of  the  Spaniards  were  riddled 
through  and  through,  and  with  masts  and  yards  shattered, 
sails  and  rigging  torn  to  shreds,  and  a  north-west  wind  still 
drifting  them  towards  the  fatal  sandbanks  of  Holland,  they 
laboured  heavily  in  a  chopping  sea,  firing  wildly,  and  re- 
ceiving tremendous  punishment  at  the  hands  of  Howard, 
Drake,  Seymour,  Winter,  and  their  followers.  Not  even 
master-gunner  Thomas  could  complain  that  day  of  "  blind 
exercise  "  on  the  part  of  the  English,  with  "  little  harm  done  " 
to  the  enemy.  There  was  scarcely  a  ship  in  the  Armada 
that  did  not  suffer  severely ;  for  nearly  all  were  engaged 
in  that  memorable  action  off  the  sands  of  Gravelines. 
The  Captain-General  himself,  Admiral  Recalde,  Alonzo 
de  Leyva,  Oquendo,  Diego  Flores  de  Valdez,  Bertendona, 

1  From  which  he  had  been  driven  the  day  before  by  English 
fire-ships. 


TIFK  LAST  DAY'S  FIGHT  WITH   THE  ARMADA.       Sr 

Don  Francisco  de  Toledo,  Don  Diego  de  Pimentel,  Telles 
Enriquez,  Alonzo  de  Luzon,  Garibay,  with  most  of  the  great 
galleons  and  galeasses,  were  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight, 
and  one  after  the  other  each  of  those  huge  ships  was 
disabled.  Three  sank  before  the  fight  was  over,  many 
others  were  soon  drifting  helpless  wrecks  towards  a  hostile- 
shore,  and,  before  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  at  least 
sixteen  of  their  best  ships  had  been  sacrificed,  and  from 
four  to  five  thousand  soldiers  killed. 

Nearly  all  the  largest  vessels  of  the  Armada,  therefore, 
having  been  disabled  or  damaged — according  to  a  Spanish 
eye-witness  —and  all  their  small  shot  exhausted,  Medina 
Sidonia  reluctantly  gave  orders  to  retreat.  The  Captain- 
General  was  a  bad  sailor,  but  he  was  a  chivalrous  Spaniard 
of  ancient  Gothic  blood,  and  he  felt  deep  mortification  at 
the  plight  of  his  invincible  fleet,  together  with  undisguised 
resentment  against  Alexander  Farnese,2  through  whose 
treachery  and  incapacity  he  considered  the  great  Catholic 
cause  to  have  been  so  foully  sacrificed.  Crippled,  maltrea- 
ted, and  diminished  in  number,  as  were  his  ships,  he  would 
have  still  faced  the  enemy,  but  the  winds  and  currents  were 
fast  driving  him  on  the  lee-shore,  and  the  pilots,  one  and 
all,  assured  him  that  it  would  be  inevitable  destruction  to 
remain.  After  a  slight  and  very  ineffectual  attempt  to  rescue 
Don  Diego  de  Pimentel  in  the  St.  Matthew — who  refused 
to  leave  his  disabled  ship — and  Don  Francisco  de  Toledo, 
whose  great  galleon,  the  St.  Philip,  was  fast  driving,  a  help- 
less wreck,  towards  Zeeland,  the  Armada  bore  away  n.n.e. 
into  the  open  sea,  leaving  those  who  could  not  follow  to 
their  fate. 

The  St.  Matthew i  in  a  sinking  condition,  hailed  a  Dutch 
fisherman,  who  was  offered  a  gold  chain  to  pilot  her  into 

2  The  Prince  of  Parma,  who  commanded  the  Spanish  army  in 
Flanders,  and  who  had  not  succeeded  in  joining  the  Armada. 


32        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Newport.  But  the  fisherman,  being  a  patriot,  steered  her 
close  to  the  Holland  fleet,  where  she  was  immediately 
assaulted  by  Admiral  Van  der  Does,  to  whom,  after  a  two 
hours'  bloody  fight,  she  struck  her  flag.  Don  Diego,  marshal 
of  the  camp  to  the  famous  legion  of  Sicily,  brother  of  the 
Marquis  of  Tavera,  nephew  of  the  Viceroy  of  Sicily,  uncle 
to  the  Viceroy  of  Naples,  and  numbering  as  many  titles, 
dignities,  and  high  affinities,  as  could  be  expected  of  a 
grandee  of  the  first  class,  was  taken,  with  his  officers,  to  the 
Hague.  "  I  was  the  means,"  said  Captain  Borlase,  "  that 
the  best  sort  were  saved,  and  the  rest  were  cast  overboard 
and  slain  at  our  entry.  He  fought  with  us  two  hours,  and 
hurt  divers  of  our  men,  but  at  last  yielded." 

John  Van  der  Does,  his  captor,  presented  the  banner  of 
the  St.  Matthew  to  the  great  church  of  Leyden,  where — 
such  was  its  prodigious  length — it  hung  from  ceiling  to  floor 
without  being  entirely  unrolled ;  and  there  it  hung,  from 
generation  to  generation,  a  worthy  companion  to  the  Spanish 
flags  which  had  been  left  behind  when  Valdez  abandoned 
the  siege  of  that  heroic  city  fifteen  years  before. 

The  galleon  St.  Philip,  one  of  the  four  largest  ships  in  the 
Armada,  dismasted  and  foundering,  drifted  towards  Newport, 
where  camp-marshal  Don  Francisco  de  Toledo  hoped  in 
vain  for  succour.  La  Motte  made  a  feeble  attempt  at  rescue, 
but  some  vessels  from  the  Holland  fleet,  being  much  more 
active,  seized  the  unfortunate  galleon,  and  carried  her  into 
Flushing.  The  captors  found  forty-eight  brass  cannon  and 
other  things  of  value  on  board,  but  there  were  some  casks 
of  Ribadavia  wine  which  was  more  fatal  to  her  enemies  than 
those  pieces  of  artillery  had  proved.  For  while  the  rebels 
were  refreshing  themselves,  after  the  fatigues  of  the  capture, 
with  large  draughts  of  that  famous  vintage,  the  St.  Philip, 
which  had  been  bored  through  and  through  with  English 
shot,  and  had  been  rapidly  filling  with  water,  gave  a  sudden 


THE  LAST  DAY'S  FIGHT  WITH  THE  ARMADA.      83 

lurch,  and  went  down  in  a  moment,  carrying  with  her  to  the 
bottom  three  hundred  of  those  convivial  Hollanders. 

A  large  Biscay  galleon,  too,  of  Recalde's  squadron,  much 
disabled  in  action,  and  now,  like  many  others,  unable  to 
follow  the  Armada,  was  summoned  by  Captain  Cross,  of  the 
Hope,  forty-eight  guns,  to  surrender.  Although  foundering, 
she  resisted,  and  refused  to  strike  her  flag.  One  of  her 
officers  attempted  to  haul  down  her  colours,  and  was  run 
through  the  body  by  the  captain,  who,  in  his  turn,  was 
struck  dead  by  a  brother  of  the  officer  thus  slain.  In  the 
midst  of  this  quarrel  the  ship  went  down  with  all  her 
crew. 

Six  hours  and  more,  from  ten  till  nearly  five,  the  fight  had 
lasted — a  most  cruel  battle,  as  the  Spaniards  declared. 
There  were  men  in  the  Armada  who  had  served  in  the 
action  of  Lepanto,  and  who  declared  that  famous  encounter 
to  have  been  far  surpassed  in  severity  and  spirit  by  this  fight 
off  Gravelines.  "Surely  every  man  in  our  fleet  did  well," 
said  Winter,  "and  the  slaughter  the  enemy  received  was 
great"  Nor  would  the  Spaniards  have  escaped  even  worse 
punishment,  had  not,  most  unfortunately,  the  penurious 
policy  of  the  Queen's  government  rendered  her  ships  useless 
at  last,  even  in  this  supreme  moment.  They  never  ceased 
cannonading  the  discomfited  enemy  until  the  ammunition 
was  exhausted.  "When  the  cartridges  were  all  spent,"  said 
Winter,  "and  the  munitions  in  some  vessels  gone  altogether, 
we  ceased  fighting,  but  followed  the  enemy,  who  still  kept 
away."  And  the  enemy — although  still  numerous,  and 
seeming  strong  enough,  if  properly  handled,  to  destroy  the 
whole  English  fleet — fled  before  them.  There  remained 
more  than  fifty  Spanish  vessels,  above  six  hundred  tons  in 
size,  besides  sixty  hulks  and  other  vessels  of  less  account ; 
while  in  the  whole  English  navy  were  but  thirteen  ships  of 
or  above  that  burthen.     "  Their  force  is  wonderful  great  and 


-4       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

strong,"  said  Howard,  "but  we  pluck  their  feathers  by  little 
and  little." 

For  Medina-Sidonia  had  now  satisfied  himself  that  he 
should  never  succeed  in  boarding  those  hard-fighting  and 
swift-sailing  craft,  while,  meantime,  the  horrible  panic  of 
Sunday  night  and  the  succession  of  fights  throughout  the 
following  day,  had  completely  disorganised  his  followers. 
Crippled,  riddled,  shorn,  but  still  numerous,  and  by  no 
means  entirely  vanquished,  the  Armada  was  flying  with  a 
gentle  breeze  before  an  enemy  who,  to  save  his  existence, 
could  not  have  fired  a  broadside. 


XVII. 

SHAKSPERE'S  EARLY  LIFE. 
GREEN. 

[While  England  was  thus  struggling  with  Spain,  it  was 
winning  an  even  greater  glory  in  letters.  Great  writers 
appeared  both  in  prose  and  poetry ;  and  more  than  fifty 
dramatists  wrote  plays,  which  gave  life  to  the  English 
stage.     Of  these  the  foremost  was  William  Shakspere.] 

Of  hardly  any  great  poet  indeed  do  we  know  so  little.  For 
the  story  of  Shakspere's  youth  we  have  only  one  or  two 
trilling  leger.ds,  and  these  almost  certainly  false.  Not  a 
single  letter  or  characteristic  saying,  not  one  of  the  jests 
"  spoken  at  the  Mermaid,"  l  hardly  a  single  anecdote,  remain 
to  illustrate  his  busy  life  in  London.  His  look  and  figure  in 
later  age  have  been  preserved  by  the  bust  over  his  tomb  at 
Stratford,  and  a  hundred  years  after  his  death  he  was  still 
remembered  in  his  native  town ;  but  the  minute  diligence 

1  The  Mermaid  Inn  in  Bread  Street,  Cheapsia'c,  where  tht 
poets  met  together. 


SHAKS1  EARLY   I  .  85 

of  later  inquirers  was  able  to  glean  hardly  a  single  detail,  even 
of  the  most  trivial  order,  which  could  throw  light  upon  the 
years  of  retirement  before  his  death.  It  is  owing  perhap 
the  harmony  and  unity  of  Shakspere's  temper  that  nosa! 
peculiarity  seems  to  have  left  its  trace  on  the  memory  of  his 
contemporaries  ;  it  is  the  very  grandeur  of  his  genius  which 
precludes  us  from  discovering  any  personal  trait  in  his  works. 
His  supposed  self-revelation  in  the  Sonnets  is  so  obscure 
that  only  a  few  outlines  can  be  traced  even  by  the  boldest 
conjecture.  In  his  dramas  he  is  all  his  characters,  and  his 
characters  range  over  all  mankind.  There  is  not  one,  or 
the  act  or  word  of  one,  that  we  can  identify  personally  with 
the  poet  himself. 

Ke  was  born  in  1564,  the  sixth  year  of  Elizabeth's  re:.  . 
twelve  years  after  the  birth  of  Spenser,  three  years  later  than 
the  birth  of  Bacon.  Marlowe  was  of  the  same  age  with 
Shakspere  :  Greene  probably  a  few  years  older.2  His  father, 
a  glover  and  small  farmer  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  was  forced 
by  poverty  to  lay  down  his  office  of  alderman  as  his  son 

ied  boyhood :  and  stress  of  poverty  may  have  been  the 
cau?-  h    drove    William    Shakspere,    who  had  already 

wedded  at  eighteen  a  wife  older  than  himself,  to  London 
and  the  stage.  His  life  in  the  capital  can  hardly  have 
begun  later  than  in  his  twenty-third  year,  the  memorable 
ch  preceded  the  coming  of  the  Armada,  and  which 
_d  the  production  of  Marlowe's  "  Tamburlaine."  It 
we  take  the  language  of  the  Sonnets  as  a  record  of  his 
sonal  feeling,  his  new  profession  as  an  actor  stirred  in  him 

the  bitterness  of  self-contempL    He  chides  with  E 
at  did  not  better  for  my  life  provide  than  public  means 

public  manners  breed ;  "  he  writhes  at  the  tho*j 
he  has  "  made  himself  a  motley  to  the  view  "  of  the  gaping 

'  ifarbwt  ^re at  impulse  to  English  tr-.jeJy  , 

Greene  to  L  ■  mudy. 

11* 


86        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

apprentices  in  the  pit  of  Blackfriars.  "  Thence  comes  it,"  he 
adds,  "that  my  name  receives  a  brand,  and  almost  thence  my 
nature  is  subdued  to  that  it  works  in."  But  the  application  of 
the  words  is  a  more  than  doubtful  one.  In  spite  of  petty 
squabbles  with  some  of  his  dramatic  rivals  at  the  outset  of  his 
career,  the  genial  nature  of  the  newcomer  seems  to  have  won 
him  a  general  love  among  his  fellows.  In  1592,  while  still 
a  mere  actor  and  fitter  of  old  plays  for  the  stage,  a  fellow- 
playwright,  Chettle,  answered  Greene's  attack  on  him  in 
words  of  honest  affection  :  "  Myself  have  seen  his  de- 
meanour no  less  civil  than  he  excellent  in  the  quality  he 
professes  :  besides,  divers  of  worship  have  reported  his 
uprightness  of  dealing,  which  argues  his  honesty,  and  his 
facetious  grace  in  writing,  that  approves  his  art"  His 
partner  Burbage  spoke  of  him  after  death  as  a  "  worthy 
friend  and  fellow  ;  "  and  Jonson  handed  down  the  general 
tradition  of  his  time  when  he  described  him  as  "  indeed 
honest,  and  of  an  open  and  free  nature." 

His  profession  as  an  actor  was  at  any  rate  of  essential 
service  to  him  in  the  poetic  career  which  he  soon  undertook. 
Not  only  did  it  give  him  the  sense  of  theatrical  necessities 
which  makes  his  plays  so  effective  on  the  boards,  but  it 
enabled  him  to  bring  his  pieces  as  he  wrote  them  to  the  test 
of  the  stage.  If  there  is  any  truth  in  Jonson's  statement 
that  Shakspere  never  blotted  a  line,  there  is  no  justice  in  the 
censure  which  it  implies  on  his  carelessness  or  incorrectness. 
The  conditions  of  poetic  publication  were  in  fact  wholly 
different  from  those  of  our  own  day.  A  drama  remained 
for  years  in  manuscript  as  an  acting  piece,  subject  to  con- 
tinual revision  and  amendment  ;  and  every  rehearsal  and 
representation  afforded  hints  for  change  which  we  know  the 
young  poet  was  far  from  neglecting.  The  chance  which 
has  preserved  an  earlier  edition  of  his  "  Hamlet  "  shows  in 
what  an   unsparing   way  Shakspere  could   recast  even  the 


SHAKSPERE'S  EARLY  LIFE.  87 

finest  products  of  his  genius.  Five  years  after  the  supposed 
date  of  his  arrival  in  London  he  was  already  famous  as  a 
dramatist.  Greene  speaks  bitterly  of  him  under  the  name 
of  "Shakescene"  as  an  "upstart  crow  beautified  with  our 
feathers,"  a  sneer  which  points  either  to  his  celebrity  as  an 
actor  or  to  his  preparation  for  loftier  nights  by  fitting  pieces 
of  his  predecessors  for  the  stage.  He  was  soon  partner  in 
the  theatre,  actor,  and  playwright ;  and  another  nickname, 
that  of  "Johannes  Factotum"  or  Jack-of-all-Trades,  shows 
his  readiness  to  take  all  honest  work  which  came  to  hand. 

With  his  publication  in  1593  of  the  poem  of  "Venus and 
Adonis,"  "  the  first  heir  of  my  invention  "  as  Shakspere  calls 
it,  the  period  of  independent  creation  fairly  began.  The 
date  of  its  publication  was  a  very  memorable  one.  The 
"  Faerie  Queen  "  had  appeared  only  three  years  before,  and 
had  placed  Spenser  without  a  rival  at  the  head  of  English 
poetry.  On  the  other  hand  the  two  leading  dramatists  of 
the  time  passed  at  this  moment  suddenly  away.  Greene 
died  in  poverty  and  self-reproach  in  the  house  of  a  poor 
shoemaker.  "  Doll,"  he  wrote  to  the  wife  he  had  abandoned, 
"  I  charge  thee,  by  the  love  of  our  youth  and  by  my  soul's 
rest,  that  thou  wilt  see  this  man  paid ;  for  if  he  and  his  wife 
had  not  succoured  me  I  had  died  in  the  streets."  "  Oh 
that  a  year  were  granted  me  to  live,"  cried  the  young  poet 
from  his  bed  of  death,  "but  I  must  die,  of  every  man 
abhorred  !  Time,  loosely  spent,  will  not  again  be  won  ! 
My  time  is  loosely  spent — and  I  undone  !  "  A  year  later 
the  death  of  Marlowe  in  a  street  brawl  removed  the  only 
rival  whose  powers  might  have  equalled  Shakspere's  own. 
He  was  now  about  thirty;  and  the  twenty-three  years  which 
elapsed  between  the  appearance  of  the  "Adonis"  and  his 
death  were  filled  with  a  series  of  masterpieces.  Nothing  is 
more  characteristic  of  his  genius  than  its  incessant  activity. 
Through  the  five  years  which  followed  the  publication  of  hifl 


83        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

early  poem  lie  seems  to  have  produced  on  an  average  two 
dramas  a  year.  When  we  attempt  however  to  trace  the 
growth  and  progress  of  the  poet's  mind  in  the  order  of  his 
plays  we  are  met  in  the  case  of  many  of  them  by  an  absence 
of  certain  information  as  to  the  dates  of  their  appearance. 
The  facts  on  which  inquiry  has  to  build  are  extremely  few. 
"  Venus  and  Adonis,"  with  the  "  Lucrece,"  must  have  been 
written  before  their  publication  in  1593-4  ,  the  Sonnets, 
though  not  published  till  1609,  were  known  in  some  form 
among  his  private  friends  as  early  as  1598.  His  earlier 
plays  are  defined  by  a  list  given  in  the  "  Witt's  Treasury  " 
of  Francis  Meres  in  159S,  though  the  omission  of  a  play 
from  a  casual  catalogue  of  this  kind  would  hardly  warrant 
us  in  assuming  its  necessary  non-existence  at  the  time.  The 
works  ascribed  to  him  at  his  death  are  fixed  in  the  same 
approximate  fashion  through  the  edition  published  by  his 
fellow-actors.  Beyond  these  meagre  facts  and  our  know- 
ledge of  the  publication  of  a  few  of  his  dramas  in  his  life- 
time all  is  uncertain  ;  and  the  conclusions  which  have  been 
drawn  from  these,  and  from  the  dramas  themselves,  as  well 
as  from  assumed  resemblances  with,  or  reference  to,  other 
plays  of  the  period,  can  only  be  accepted  as  approximations 
to  the  truth. 

The  bulk  of  his  lighter  comedies  and  historical  dramas 
can  be  assigned  with  fair  probability  to  a  period  from  about 
1593,  when  Shakspere  was  known  as  nothing  more  than  an 
adapter,  to  1598,  when  they  are  mentioned  in  the  list  of 
Meres.  They  bear  on  them  indeed  the  stamp  of  youth. 
In  "  Love's  Labour's  Lost "  the  young  playwright,  fresh 
from  his  own  Stratford,  its  "  daisies  pied  and  violets  blue," 
with  the  gay  bright  music  of  its  country  ditties  still  in  his 
ears,  flings  himself  into  the  midst  of  the  brilliant  England 
which  gathered  round  Elizabeth,  busying  himself  as  yet  for 
the  most  part  with  the  surface  of  it,  with  the  humours  and 


SHAKSPERE'S  EARLY  LIFE.  89 

quixorums,  the  whit  and  the  whim,  the  unreality,  the  fan- 
tastic extravagance,  which  veiled  its  inner  nobleness. 
in  try-lad  as  he  is,  Shakspere  shows  himself  master  of 
it  all  ;  lie  can  putter  euphuism  and  exchange  quip  and 
repartee  with  the  best;  he  is  at  home  in  their  pedantries 
and  affectations,  their  brag  and  their  rhetoric,  their  passion 
for  the  fantastic  and  the  marvellous.  He  can  laugh  as 
heartily  at  the  romantic  vagaries  of  the  courtly  world  in 
which  he  finds  himself  as  at  the  narrow  dulness,  the 
pompous  triflings,  of  the  country  world  which  he  has  left 
behind  him.  But  he  laughs  frankly  and  without  malice ; 
he  sees  the  real  grandeur  of  soul  which  underlies  all  this 
quixotry  and  word-play ;  and  owns  with  a  smile  that 
when  brought  face  to  face  with  the  facts  of  human  life, 
with  the  suffering  of  man  or  the  danger  of  England, 
these  fops  have  in  them  the  stuff  of  heroes.  He 
shares  the  delight  in  existence,  the  pleasure  in  sheer 
living,  which  was  so  marked  a  feature  of  the  age ;  he 
enjoys  the  mistakes,  the  contrasts,  the  adventures,  of  the 
men  about  him  ;  his  fun  breaks  almost  riotously  out  in  the 
piactical  jokes  of  the  "Taming  of  the  Shrew"  and  the 
endless  blunderings  of  the  "Comedy  of  Errors."  In  these 
earlier  efforts  his  work  had  been  marked  by  little  poetic 
elevation,  or  by  passion.  But  the  easy  grace  of  the  dialogue, 
the  dexterous  management  of  a  complicated  story,  the 
genial  gaiety  of  his  tone  and  the  music  of  his  verse, 
promised  a  master  of  social  comedy  as  soon  as  Shakspere 
turned  from  the  superficial  aspects  of  the  world  about  him 
to  find  a  new  delight  in  the  character  and  actions  cf  men. 
The  interest  of  human  character  was  still  fresh  and  vivid  ; 
the  sense  of  individuality  drew  a  charm  from  its  novelty  ; 
and  poet  and  essayist  were  busy  alike  in  sketching  the 
"  humours "  of  mankind.  Shakspere  sketched  with  his 
fellows.      In  the  "Two  Centlemen  of  Verona"  his  painting 


9o        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

of  manners  was  suffused  by  a  tenderness  and  ideal  beauty 
which  formed  an  effective  protest  against  the  hard  though 
vigorous  character-painting  which  the  first  success  of  Ben 
Jonson  in  "Every  Man  in  his  Humour"  brought  at  the 
time  into  fashion.  But  quick  on  these  lighter  comedies 
followed  two  in  which  his  genius  started  fully  into  life. 
His  poetic  power,  held  in  reserve  till  now,  showed  itself 
with  a  splendid  profusion  in  the  brilliant  fancies  of  the 
"  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  ;  "  and  passion  swept  like  a 
tide  of  resistless  delight  through  "  Romeo  and  Juliet." 


XVIII. 

THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

BANCROFT. 

[The  reign  of  Elizabeth  was  followed  by  that  of  a  very 
different  ruler.  James  the  First  broke  with  English  reli- 
gion, quarrelled  with  the  Parliament,  and  sowed  the  first 
seeds  of  the  strife  between  king  and  people  which  was  to 
end  in  the  Great  Rebellion.  His  persecution  however 
of  those  who  would  not  conform  to  the  Church  and  its 
worship  brought  about  a  great  result.  It  drove  some  of 
them  to  the  New  World  ;  and  their  foundation  of  the 
colonies  of  New  England  moulded  for  good  the  destinies 
of  the  United  States.] 

In  the  opening  of  the  reign  of  James  "  a  poor  people  "  in 
the  north  of  England,  in  towns  and  villages  of  Nottingham- 
shire, Lincolnshire,  and  the  borders  of  Yorkshire,  in  and 
near  Scrooby,  had  "  become  enlightened  by  the  word  of 
God."  "  Presently,"  we  are  told  by  their  historian,  "  they 
were  both  scoffed  and  scorned  by  the  profane  multitude ; 
and  their  ministers,  urged  with  the  yoke  of  subscription," 
were,  by  the  increase  of  troubles,  led  "  to  see  further,"  that 


THE  PILGRIM   1  ATHERS.  9» 

not  only  "the  beggarly  ceremonies  were  monuments  of 
idolatry,"  but  also  "that  the  lordly  power  of  the  pre- 
lates ought  not  to  be  submitted  to."  Many  of  them,  there- 
fore, "  whose  hearts  the  Lord  had  touched  with  heavenly 
zeal  for  his  truth,"  resolved,  "  whatever  it  might  cost  them, 
to  shake  off  the  anti-Christian  bondage,  and,  as  the  Lord's 
free  people,  to  join  themselves  by  a  covenant  into  a 
church  estate  in  the  fellowship  of  the  gospel."  Of  the 
same  faith  with  Calvin,  heedless  of  acts  of  Parliament, 
they  rejected  "  the  offices  and  callings,  the  courts  and 
canons"  of  bishops,  and,  renouncing  all  obedience  to 
human  authority  in  spiritual  things,  asserted  for  themselves 
an  unlimited  and  never-ending  right  to  make  advances 
in  truth,  and  "walk  in  all  the  ways  which  God  had  made 
known  or  should  make  known  to  them." 

The  reformed  church  chose  for  one  of  their  ministers 
John  Robinson,  "  a  man  not  easily  to  be  paralleled,"  "  of  a 
most  learned,  polished,  and  modest  spirit."  Their  ruling 
elder  was  William  Brewster,  who  "  was  their  special  stay 
and  help."  They  were  beset  and  watched  night  and  i 
by  the  agents  of  prelacy.  For  about  a  year  they  kept  their 
meetings  every  Sabbath,  in  one  place  or  another;  exercis- 
ing the  worship  of  God  among  themselves,  notwithstanding 
all  the  diligence  and  malice  of  their  adversaries.  But,  as 
the  humane  ever  decline  to  enforce  the  laws  dictated  by 
bigotry,  the  office  devolves  on  the  fanatic  or  the  savage. 
Hence  the  severity  of  their  execution  usually  surpassed  the 
intention  of  their  autiiors ;  and  the  peaceful  members  ol 
"the  poor,  persecuted  flock  of  Christ,"  despairing  of  rest 
in  England,  resolved  to  go  into  exile. 

The  departure  from  England  was  effected  with  much 
suffering  and  hazard.  The  first  attempt,  in  1607,  was  pre- 
vented ;  but  the  magistrates  checked  the  ferocity  of  the 
subordinate   officers;    and,   after  a   month's  arrest  of  the 


92        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

whole  company,  seven  only  of  the  principal  men  were  de 
tamed  a  little  longer  in  prison.  The  next  spring  the  design 
was  renewed.  As  if  it  had  been  a  crime  to  escape  from 
persecution,  an  unfrequented  heath  in  Lincolnshire,  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Humber,  was  the  place  of  secret  meeting.  Just 
as  a  boat  was  bearing  a  part  of  the  emigrants  to  their  ship,  a 
company  of  horsemen  appeared  in  pursuit,  and  seized  on  the 
helpless  women  and  children  who  had  not  yet  adventured  on 
the  surf.  "  Pitiful  it  was  to  see  the  heavy  case  of  these  poor 
women  in  distress  ;  what  weeping  and  crying  on  every  side." 
But,  when  they  were  apprehended,  it  seemed  impossible  to 
punish  and  imprison  wives  and  children  for  no  other  crime 
than  that  they  would  not  part  from  their  husbands  and 
fathers.  They  could  not  be  sent  home,  for  "  they  had  no 
homes  to  go  to  ; "  so  that,  at  last,  the  magistrates  were  "  glad 
to  be  rid  of  them  on  any  terms,"  "  though,  in  the  meantime, 
they,  poor  souls,  endured  misery  enough."  Such  was  the 
flight  of  Robinson  and  Brewster,  and  their  followers,  from 
the  land  of  their  fathers. 

Their  arrival  in  Amsterdam,1  in  1608,  was  but  the  begin- 
ning of  their  wanderings.  "  They  knew  they  were  pilgrims, 
and  looked  not  much  on  those  things,  but  lifted  up  their 
eyes  to  heaven,  their  dearest  country,  and  quieted  their 
spirits." 

They  lived  but  as  men  in  exile.  Many  of  their  English 
friends  would  not  come  to  them,  or  departed  from  them 
weeping.  "Their  continual  labours,  with  other  crosses  and 
sorrows,  left  them  in  danger  to  scatter  or  sink."  "  Their 
children,  sharing  their  parents'  burdens,  bowed  under  the 
weight,  and  were  becoming  decrepid  in  early  youth."  Con- 
scious of  ability  to  act  a  higher  part  in  the  great  drama  of 
humanity,  they  were  moved  by  "  a  hope  and  inward  zeal 
of  advancing  the  gospel  of  the  kingdom  of  Christ  in  the 

1  In  Holland 


THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS.  03 

remote  parts  of  the  New  World  j  yea,  though  they  should 
be   but  as  stepping-stones  unto   others  for  performing  so 

il  a  wi  irk." 
Alter   some   years,   trusting  in   God  and    in   themselves, 
they   made    ready   for  their  departure.      The  ships  which 
they    had    provided — the    Speedwell,    of    sixty     tons,     the 
Mayflower,  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  tons — could  hold 
but  a  minority  of  the  congregation ;    and   Robinson  was 
therefore  detained  at  Leyden,  while  Brewster,  the  governing 
elder,  who  was  also  an  able  teacher,  conducted  "such  of 
the  youngest  and  strongest  as  freely  offered  themselves." 
Every  enterprise  of  the  pilgrims  began  from  God.  A  solemn 
fast  was  held.     "  Let  us  seek  of  God,"  said  they,  "  a  right 
way   for  us,  and   for  our  little  ones,  and  for  all  our  sub- 
stance."    Anticipating  their  high  destiny,  and  the  sublime 
lessons  of  liberty  that  would  grow  out  of  their  religious 
tenets,  Robinson  gave  them  a  farewell,  breathing  a  freedom 
of  opinion  and  an  independence  of  authority  such  as  then 
were  hardly  known  in  the  world. 

"  I  charge  you,  before  God  and  his  blessed  angels,  that 
you  follow  me  no  further  than  you  have  seen  me  follow  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  The  Lord  has  more  truth  yet  to  break 
forth  out  of  his  holy  word.  I  cannot  sufficiently  bewail 
the  condition  of  the  reformed  churches,  who  are  come  to  a 
period  in  religion,  and  will  go  at  present  no  further  thai1 
the  instruments  of  their  reformation.  Luther  and  Calvin 
were  great  and  shining  lights  in  their  times,  yet  they  pene- 
trated not  into  the  whole  counsel  of  God.  I  beseech  you, 
remember  it, — 'tis  an  article  of  your  church  covenant, — 
that  you  be  ready  to  receive  whatever  trudi  shall  be  made 
known  to  you  from  the  written  word  of  God." 

"  When  the  ship  was  ready  to  carry  us  away,"  writes 
Edward  Winslow,  "  the  brethren  that  stayed  at  Leyden, 
having  again  solemnly  sought  the  Lord  with  us  and   for  us, 


94       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY". 

feasted  us  that  were  to  go,  at  our  pastor's  house,  being 
large ;  where  we  refreshed  ourselves,  after  tears,  with  sing- 
ing of  psalms,  making  joyful  melody  in  our  hearts.,  as  well 
as  with  the  voice,  there  being  many  of  the  congregation 
very  expert  in  music ;  and  indeed  it  was  the  sweetest 
melody  that  ever  mine  ears  heard.  After  this  they  accom- 
panied us  to  Delft-Haven,  where  we  went  to  embark,  and 
then  feasted  us  again ;  and,  after  prayer  performed  by  our 
pastor,  when  a  flood  of  tears  was  poured  out,  they  accom- 
panied us  to  the  ship,  but  were  not  able  to  speak  one  to 
another  for  the  abundance  of  sorrow  to  part.  But  we  only, 
going  abroad,  gave  them  a  volley  of  small  shot  and  three 
pieces  of  ordnance ;  and  so,  lifting  up  our  hands  to  each 
other,  and  our  hearts  for  each  other  to  the  Lord  our  God, 
we  departed." 

A  prosperous  wind  soon  wafts  the  vessel  to  Southampton  ; 
and  in  a  fortnight  the  Mayfloiver 2lVl&  the  Speedwell,  freighted 
with  the  first  colony  of  New  England,  leave  Southampton 
for  America.  But  they  had  not  gone  far  upon  the  Atlantic 
before  the  smaller  vessel  was  found  to  need  repairs,  and 
they  entered  the  port  of  Dartmouth.  After  the  lapse  of 
eight  precious  days,  they  again  weigh  anchor;  the  coast 
of  England  recedes  ;  already  they  are  unfurling  their  sails 
on  the  broad  ocean,  when  the  captain  of  the  Speedwell,  with 
his  company,  dismayed  at  the  dangers  of  the  enterprise, 
once  more  pretends  that  his  ship  is  too  weak  for  the 
service.  They  put  back  to  Plymouth,  "  and  agree  to  dis- 
miss her,  and  those  who  are  willing  return  to  London, 
though  this  was  very  grievous  and  discouraging."  Having 
thus  winnowed  their  numbers,  the  little  band,  not  of  resolute 
men  only,  but  wives,  some  far  gone  in  pregnancy,  children, 
infants,  a  floating  village  of  one  hundred  and  two  souls, 
went  on  board  the  single  ship,  which  was  hired  only  to 
convey  them  across  the  Atlantic  j  and  on  the  sixth  day  of 


T1IK  PILGRIM  FATHERS.  95 

September,  1620,  thirteen  years  after  the  first  colonization 
of  Virginia,  two  months  before  the  concession  of  the  grand 
charter  of  Plymouth,  without  any  warrant  from  the  sovereign 

of  England,  without  any  useful  charter  from  a  corporate 
body,  the  passengers  in  the  Mayflower  set  sail  for  a  new 
world,  where  the  past  could  offer  no  favourable  auguries. 

Had  New  England  been  colonized  immediately  on  the 
discovery  of  the  American  continent,  the  old  English  insti- 
tutions would  have  been  planted  with  the  Roman  Catholic 
hierarchy;  had  the  settlement  been  made  under  Elizabeth, 
it  would  have  been  before  activity  of  the  popular  mind  in 
religion  had  conducted  to  a  corresponding  activity  of  mind 
in  politics.  The  pilgrims  were  Englishmen,  Protestants, 
exiles  from  conscience,  men  disciplined  by  misfortune,  culti 
vated  by  opportunities  of  extensive  observation,  equal  in 
rank  as  in  rights,  and  bound  by  no  code  but  that  of  religion 
or  the  public  will. 

The  eastern  coast  of  the  United  States  abounds  in  beau- 
tiful and  convenient  harbours,  in  majestic  bays  and  rivers. 
The  first  Virginia  colony,  sailing  along  the  shores  of  North 
Carolina,  was,  by  a  favouring  storm,  driven  into  the  magnifi- 
cent Bay  of  the  Chesapeake ;  the  pilgrims,  having  selected 
for  their  settlement  the  country  near  the  Hudson,  the  best 
position  on  the  whole  coast,  were  conducted  to  the  most 
barren  parts  of  Massachusetts.  After  a  boisterous  voyage 
of  sixty-three  days,  during  which  one  person  had  died,  they 
espied  land ;  and  in  two  days  more  cast  anchor  in  the 
harbour  of  Cape  Cod. 


96        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 


XIX. 

DEATH  OF  RALEIGH. 

GARDINER. 

[The  settlers  were  hardly  landed  on  the  shores  of  America 
when  the  warrior  and  statesman  who  had  first  planned  the 
English  colonization  of  the  New  World  passed  away, 
Raleigh  had  been  honoured  and  trusted  by  Elizabeth, 
but  he  was  feared  by  James,  accused  of  treason,  and  im- 
prisoned for  long  years  in  the  Tower.  At  last  he  was 
suffered  to  sail  to  discover  new  lands  on  the  Oronoco  ; 
but  he  found  the  Spaniards  there,  was  forced  to  fight,  and 
defeated.  On  his  return  the  Spanish  King  made  com- 
plaint of  his  attack,  and  James  suffered  him  to  be  put  to 
death  on  the  old  charge  of  treason.] 

It  was  in  vain  that  Raleigh  begged  for  a  kxv  days  to 
complete  some  writings  which  he  had  on  hand ;  he  was  told 
that  he  must  prepare  for  execution  on  the  following  morning. 
As  he  was  to  suffer  in  Palace  Yard,  he  was  taken  to  the 
Gatehouse  at  Westminster  to  pass  the  night.  With  the 
certainty  of  death  he  had  regained  the  composure  to  which 
he  had  long  been  a  stranger.  In  the  evening,  Lady  Raleigh 
came  to  take  her  farewell  of  her  husband.  Thinking  that 
he  might  like  to  know  that  the  last  rites  would  be  paid  to 
his  remains,  she  told  him  that  she  had  obtained  permission 
to  dispose  of  his  body.  He  smiled,  and  answered,  "It  is 
well,  Bess,  that  thou  mayest  dispose  of  that  dead  which 
thou  hadst  not  always  the  disposing  of  when  it  was  alive." 
At  midnight  she  left  him,  and  he  lay  down  to  sleep  for  three 
or  four  hours.  When  he  awoke  he  had  a  long  conference 
with    Dr.   Townson,  the    Dean    of  Westminster,  who  was 


DF.ATII  OF  RALEIGH.  97 

surprised  at  the  fearlessness  which  he  exhibited  at  the 
prospect  of  death,  and  begged  him  to  consider  whether  it 
did  not  proceed  from  carelessness  or  vain  glory.  Raleigh, 
now  as  ever  unconscious  of  his  real  faults,  did  his  best  to 
disabuse  him  of  this  idea,  and  told  him  that  he  was  sure 
that  no  man  who  knew  and  feared  God  could  die  with 
fearlessness  and  courage,  except  he  was  certain  of  God's 
love  and  favour  to  him.  Reassured  by  these  words,  Town- 
son  proceeded  to  administer  the  Communion  to  him  ;  after 
he  had  received  it,  he  appeared  cheerful,  and  even  merry. 
"He  spoke  of  his  expectation  that  he  would  be  able  to  per- 
suade the  world  of  his  innocence.  The  good  Dean  was 
troubled  with  talk  of  this  kind,  and  begged  him  not  to 
speak  against  the  justice  of  the  realm.  Raleigh  acknow- 
ledged that  he  had  been  condemned  according  to  the  law, 
but  said  that,  for  all  that,  he  must  perish  in  asserting  his 
innocence. 

As  the  hour  for  his  execution  approached,  Raleigh  took 
his  breakfast,  and  smoked  his  tobacco  as  usual.  His  spirits 
were  excited  by  the  prospect  of  the  scene  which  was  before 
him.  Being  asked  how  he  liked  the  wine  which  was  brought 
to  him,  he  said  that  "it  was  good  drink,  if  a  man  might 
tarry  by  it."  At  eight  the  officers  came  to  fetch  him  away. 
As  he  passed  out  to  the  scaffold  he  noticed  that  one  of  his 
friends,  who  had  come  to  be  near  him  at  the  last,  was 
unable  to  push  through  the  throng.  "  I  know  not,"  he  said, 
"  what  shift  you  will  make,  but  I  am  sure  to  have  a  place." 
A  minute  after,  catching  sight  of  an  old  man  with  a  bald  head 
he  asked  him  whether  he  wanted  anything.  "  Nothing,"  he 
replied,  "  but  to  see  you,  and  to  pray  God  to  have  mercy  on 
your  soul."  "  I  thank  thee,  good  friend,"  answered  Raleigh, 
"  I  am  sorry  I  have  no  better  thing  to  return  thee  for  thy 
good  will  ;  but  take  this  nightcap,  for  thou  hast  more  need 
of  it  now  than  I." 


98       FROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

As  soon  as  he  had  mounted  the  scaffold,  he  asked  leave 
to  address  the  people.  His  speech  had  been  carefully 
prepared.  Every  word  he  spoke,  was,  as  far  as  we  can 
judge,  literally  true ;  but  it  was  not  the  whole  truth,  and 
it  was  calculated  in  many  points  to  produce  a  false  im- 
pression on  his  hearers.  He  spoke  of  the  efforts  which 
it  had  cost  him  to  induce  his  men  to  return  to  England, 
and  denied  having  wished  to  desert  his  comrades  whilst 
he  was  lying  at  the  mouth  of  the  Orinoco.  He  then 
adverted  to  a  foolish  tale  which  had  long  been  current 
against  him,  to  the  effect  that  at  the  execution  of  the  Earl 
of  Essex,1  he  had  taken  his  place  at  a  window  in  order 
to  see  him  die,  and  had  puffed  tobacco  at  him  in  deri- 
sion. The  story,  he  said,  was  a  pure  fiction.  "  And 
now,"  he  concluded  by  saying,  "  I  entreat  that  you  all  will 
join  with  me  in  prayer  to  that  Great  God  of  Heaven  whom 
I  have  so  grievously  offended,  being  a  man  full  of  all  vanity, 
who  has  lived  a  sinful  life  in  such  callings  as  have  been 
most  inducing  to  it ;  for  I  have  been  a  soldier,  a  sailor,  and 
a  courtier,  which  are  courses  of  wickedness  and  vice ;  that 
His  Almighty  goodness  will  forgive  me  ;  that  He  will  cast 
away  my  sins  from  me,  and  that  He  will  receive  me  into 
everlasting  life  ;  so  I  take  my  leave  of  you  all,  making  my 
peace  with  God." 

As  soon  as  the  preparations  were  completed,  Raleigh 
turned  to  the  executioner,  and  asked  to  see  the  axe.  "I 
prithee,"  said  he  as  the  man  held  back,  "let  me  see  it  ; 
dost  thou  think  that  I  am  afraid  of  it?"  He  ran  his 
finger  down  the  edge,  saying  to  himself,  "This  is  sharp 
medicine,  but  it  is  a  sound  cure  for  all  diseases."  He  then 
knelt  down  and  laid  his  head  upon  the  block.  Some  one 
objected  that  he  ought   to  lay  his  face  towards   the  east : 

1  Lord  Essex  was  Raleigh's  great  rival  in  Elizabeth's  favour  ■ 
He  at  last  rose  in  revolt  against  her,  and  was  put  to  death. 


DEATH  OF  RALEIGH.  99 

'•  What  matter,"  he  said,  "how  the  head  lie,  so  the  heart  be 
right?"  After  he  had  prayed  for  a  little  while,  he  gave  the 
appointed  signal  \  seeing  that  the  headsman  was  reluctant 
to  do  his  duty,  he  called  upon  him  to  strike.  In  two  blows 
the  head  was  severed  from  the  body.  His  remains  were 
delivered  to  his  wife,  and  were  by  her  buried  in  St  Mar- 
garet's at  Westminster. 

A  copy  of  verses  written  by  Raleigh  the  night  befi 
his  execution  was  discovered,  and  was  soon  passed  from 
hand  to  hand.  It  was  a  strange  medley,  in  which  faith 
and  confidence  in  God  appear  side  by  side  with  sarcasms 
upon  the  lawyers  and  the  courtiers.  It  was  perhaps  at 
a  later  hour  that  he  wrote  on  the  fly  leaf  of  his  Bible 
those  touching  lines  in  which  the  higher  part  of  his  nature 
alone  is  visible  : — 

"  Even  such  is  time  that  takes  on  trust 
Our  youth,  our  joys,  and  all  we  have, 
And  pays  us  but  with  age  and  dust ; 
Who  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave, 
When  we  have  wandered  all  our  ways, 
Shuts  up  the  story  of  our  days  ! 
But  from  this  earth,  this  grave,  this  dust, 
The  Lord  shall  raise  me  up,  I  trust." 


"No  matter  how  the  head  lie,  so  the  heart  be  right." 
Perhaps,  after  all,  no  better  epitaph  could  be  found  to  in- 
scribe upon  Raleigh's  tomb.  For  him,  the  child  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  it  was  still  possible  to  hold  truth  and 
falsehood  lightly,  without  sinking  into  meanness.  In  his 
chase  after  wealth,  he  was  never  sordid  or  covetous.  1 1  i 
sins  had  brought  with  them  their  own  punishment,  a  punish- 
ment which  did  not  tarry,  because  he  was  so  utterly  un- 
conscious of  them.  Yet  it  was  no  mere  blindness  to  his 
errors  which  made  all  England  feel  that  Raleigh's  death  was 


ioo      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

a  national  dishonour.  His  countrymen  knew  that  in  his 
wildest  enterprises  he  had  always  before  him  the  thought  of 
England's  greatness,  and  that,  in  his  eyes,  England's  great- 
ness was  indissolubly  connected  with  the  truest  welfare  of 
all  other  nations.     They  knew  that  his  heart  was  right 


XX. 

THE  PURITANS. 
KINGSLEY. 

[Throughout  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  the  bulk  of  Englishmen 
were  becoming  more  zealously  Protestant  and  religious. 
Such  men  came  to  be  called  "  Precisians  "  or  "  Puritans." 
Under  James,'  who  hated  it,  Puritanism  spread  fast ;  and 
his  son,  Charles  the  First,  found  in  it  the  great  obstacle 
to  his  attempts  to  govern  England  in  defiance  of  the 
Parliament.  The  Puritans  were  stern  and  sober-minded 
men  ;  but  they  were  of  noble  temper,  and  did  much  to 
raise  the  standard  of  English  life.  Mr.  Kingsley  has 
given  a  fine  picture  of  a  young  Puritan  in  his  sketch  of 
Zeal-for-Truth  Thoresby.] 

Was  there  no  poetry  in  these  Puritans,  because  they  wrote 
no  poetry  ?  We  do  not  mean  now  the  unwritten  tragedy  of 
the  battle-psalm  and  the  charge ;  but  simply  idyllic  poetry 
and  quiet  home-drama,  love-poetry  of  the  heart  and  the 
hearth,  and  the  beauties  of  every-day  human  life?  Take 
the  most  commonplace  of  them  :  was  Zeal-for-Truth  Thor- 
esby, of  Thoresby  Rise  in  Deeping  Fen,  because  his  father 
had  thought  lit  to  give  him  an  ugly  and  silly  name,  the  less 
of  a  noble  lad  ?  Did  his  name  prevent  his  being  six  feet 
high  ?  Were  his  shoulders  the  less  broad  for  it,  his  cheeks 
the  less  ruddy  for  it  ?  He  wore  his  flaxen  hair  of  the  same 
length  that  even'  one  now  wears  theirs,  instead  of  letting  it 


THE  PURITANS.  ■  "■ 

hang  halfway  to  his  waist  in  essenced  curls  ;  but  was  he 
therefore  the  less  of  a  true  Viking's  son,  bold-hearted  as  his 
sea-roving  ancestors  who  won  the  Danelagh  by  Canute's 
side,  and  settled  there  on  Thoresby  Rise,  to  grow  wheat 
and  breed  horses,  generation  succeeding  generation,  in  the 
old  moated  grange  ?  He  carried  a  Bible  in  his  jack-boot : 
but  did  that  prevent  him,  as  Oliver  l  rode  past  him  with  an 
approving  smile  on  Naseby-field,  thinking  himself  a  very 
handsome  fellow,  witn  his  mustache  and  imperial,  and 
bright  red  coat,  and  cuirass  well  polished  in  spite  of  many 
a  dint,  as  he  sate  his  father's  great  black  horse  as  gracefully 
and  firmly  as  any  long-locked  and  essenced  cavalier  in  front 
of  him  ?  Or  did  it  prevent  him  thinking  too,  for  a  moment, 
with  a  throb  of  the  heart,  that  sweet  Cousin  Patience  far  away 
at  home,  could  she  but  see  him,  might  have  the  same  opinion 
of  him  as  he  had  of  himself  ?  Was  he  the  worse  for  the 
thought?  He  was  certainly  not  the  worse  for  checking  it  the 
next  instant,  with  manly  shame  for  letting  such  "carnal 
vanities"  rise  in  his  heart,  while  he  was  "doing  the  Lord's 
work  "  in  the  teeth  of  death  and  hell :  but  was  there  no  poetry 
in  him  then  ?  No  poetry  in  him-  five  minutes  after,  as  the 
long  rapier  swung  round  his  head,  redder  and  redder  at  every 
s»veep?  We  are  befooled  by  names.  Call  him  Crusader 
instead  of  Roundhead,  and  he  seems  at  once  (granting  him 
only  sincerity,  which  he  had,  and  that  of  a  right  awful  kind) 
as  complete  a  knight-errant  as  ever  watched  and  prayed,  ere 
putting  on  his  spurs,  in  fantastic  Gothic  chapel,  beneath 
"  storied  windows  richly  dight."  Was  there  no  poetry  in 
him,  either,  half  an  hour  afterwards,  as  he  lay  bleeding 
across  the  corpse  of  the  gallant  horse,  waiting  for  his  turn 
with  the  surgeon,  and  fumbled  for  the  Bible  in  his  boot,  and 
tried  to  hum  a  psalm,  and  thought  of  Cousin  Patience,  and 
his  father,  and   his  mother,   and   how   they  would  hear,  at 

1  Oliver  Cromwell. 


102      TROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTOKV. 

least,  that  he  had  played  the  man  in  Israel  that  day,  and 
resisted  unto  blood,  striving  against  sin  and  the  Man  of 
Sin? 

And  was  there  no  poetry  in  him,  too,  as  he  came  wearied 
along  Thoresby  dyke,  in  the  quiet  autumn  eve,  home  to  the 
house  of  his  forefathers,  and  saw  afar  off  the  knot  of  tall 
poplars  rising  over  the  broad  misty  flat,  and  the  one  grea«" 
abele  tossing  its  sheets  of  silver  in  the  dying  gusts,  and 
knew  that  they  stood  before  his  father's  door?  Who  can 
tell  all  the  pretty  child-memories  which  flitted  across  his 
brain  at  that  sight,  and  made  him  forget  that  he  was  a 
wounded  cripple  ?  There  is  the  dyke  where  he  and  his 
brothers  snared  the  great  pike  which  stole  the  ducklings — 
how  many  years  ago  ?  while  pretty  little  Patience  stood  by 
frembling,  and  shrieked  at  each  snap  of  the  brute's  wide 
jaws  :  and  there,  down  that  long  dark  lode,  ruffling  with 
crimson  in  the  sunset  breeze,  he  and  his  brothers  skated 
home  in  triumph  with  Patience  when  his  uncle  died.  What 
a  day  that  was  !  when,  in  the  clear,  bright  winter  noon, 
they  laid  the  gate  upon  the  ice,  and  tied  the  beef-bones 
under  the  four  corners,  and  packed  little  Patience  on  it. — 
How  pretty  she  looked,  though  her  eyes  were  red  with 
weeping,  as  she  peeped  out  from  among  the  heap  of 
blankets  and  horse-hides,  and  how  merrily  their  long  fen- 
runners  whistled  along  the  ice-lane,  between  the  high  banks 
of  sighing  reed,  as  they  towed  home  their  new  treasure  in 
triumph,  at  a  pace  like  the  race-horse's,  to  their  dear  old 
home  among  the  poplar  trees.  And  now  he  was  going 
home  to  meet  her,  after  a  mighty  victory,  a  deliverance 
from  heaven,  second  only  in  his  eyes  to  that  Red-sea  one. 
Was  there  no  poetry  in  his  heart  at  that  thought  ?  Did  not 
the  glowing  sunset,  and  the  reed-beds  which  it  transfigured 
before  him  into  sheets  of  golden  flame,  seem  tokens  that 
the  glory  of  God  was  going  before  him  in   his   path  ?     Did 


THE  PURITANS.  103 

not  the  sweet  clamour  of  the  wild-fowl,  gathering  for  one 
rich  paean  ere  they  sank  into  rest,  seem  to  him  as  God's 
bells  chiming  him  home  in  trijmph,  with  peals  sweeter  and 
bolder  than  those  of  Lincoln  or  Peterborough  steeple-house  ? 
Did  not  the  very  lapwing,  as  she  tumbled  softly  wailing, 
before  his  path,  as  she  did  years  ago,  seem  to  welcome  the 
wanderer  home  in  the  name  of  heaven  ? 

Fair  Patience,  too,  though  she  was  a  Puritan,  yet  did  not 
her  cheek  flush,  her  eye  grow  dim,  like  any  other  girl's,  as 
she  saw  far  off  the  red-coat,  like  a  sliding  spark  of  fire, 
coming  slowly  along  the  straight  fen-bank,  and  fled  up  stairs 
into  her  chamber  to  pray,  half  that  it  might  be,  half  that  it 
might  not  be  he  ?  Was  there  no  happy  storm  of  human 
tears  and  human  laughter  when  he  entered  the  courtyard 
gate?  Did  not  the  old  dog  lick  his  Puritan  hand  as 
lovingly  as  if  it  had  been  a  Cavalier's  ?  Did  not  lads  and 
lasses  run  out  shouting  ?  Did  not  the  old  yeoman  father 
hug  him,  weep  over  him,  hold  him  at  arm's  length,  and  hug 
him  again,  as  heartily  as  any  other  John  Bull,  even  though 
the  next  moment  he  called  all  to  kneel  down  and  thank 
Him  who  had  sent  his  boy  home  again,  after  bestowing  on 
him  the  grace  to  bind  kings  in  chains  and  nobles  with  links 
of  iron,  and  contend  to  death  for  the  faith  delivered  to  the 
saints  ?  And  did  not  Zeal-for-Truth  look  about  as  wistfully 
for  Patience  as  any  other  man  would  have  done,  longing  to 
see  her,  yet  not  daring  even  to  ask  for  her  ?  And  when  she 
came  down  at  last,  was  she  the  less  lovely  in  his  eyes 
because  she  came,  not  flaunting  with  bare  bosom,  in  tawdry 
finery  and  paint,  but  shrouded  close  in  coif  and  pinner, 
hiding  from  all  the  world  beauty  which  was  there  still,  but 
was  meant  for  one  alone,  and  that  only  if  God  willed,  in 
God's  good  time?  And  was  there  no  faltering  of  their 
voices,  no  light  in  their  eyes,  no  trembling  pressure  of  their 
hands,   which    said    more,   and   was   more,   aye,  and    more 


io4      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLIb.     HISTORY. 

beautiful  in  the  sight  of  Him  who  made  them,  than  all 
Hcrrick's  Dianemes,  Waller's  Saccharissas,  flames,  darts, 
posies,  love-knots,  anagrams,  and  the  rest  of  the  insincere 
cant  of  the  court?  What  if  Zeal-for-Truth  had  never 
strung  together  two  rhymes  in  his  life  ?  Did  not  his 
heart  go  for  inspiration  to  a  loftier  Helicon,  when  it 
whispered  to  itself,  '''  My  love,  my  dove,  my  undenled,  is 
but  one,"  than  if  he  had  filled  pages  with  sonnets  about 
Venuses  and  Cupids,  love-sick  shepherds  and  cruel  nymphs  ? 

And  was  there  no  poetry,  true  idyllic  poetry,  as  of  Long- 
fellow's "Evangeline"  itself,  in  that  trip  round  the  old 
farm  next  morning;  when  Zeal-for-Truth,  after  looking 
over  every  heifer,  and  peeping  into  every  sty,  would 
needs  canter  down  by  his  father's  side  to  the  horse-fen,  with 
his  arm  in  a  sling  ;  while  the  partridges  whirred  up  before 
them,  and  the  lurchers  flashed  like  grey  snakes  after  the 
hare,  and  the  colts  came  whinnying  round,  with  staring 
eyes  and  streaming  manes,  and  the  two  chatted  on  in  the 
same  sober  businesslike  English  tone,  alternately  of  "The 
Lord's  great  dealings  "  by  General  Cromwell,  the  pride  of 
all  honest  fen-men,  and  the  price  of  troop-horses  at  the  next 
Horncastle  fair  ? 

Poetry  in  those  old  Puritans  ?  Why  not  ?  They  were 
men  of  like  passions  with  ourselves.  They  loved,  they 
married,  they  brought  up  children ;  they  feared,  they  sinned, 
they  sorrowed,  they  fought — they  conquered.  There  was 
poetry  enough  in  them,  be  sure,  though  they  acted  it  like 
men,  instead  of  singing  it  like  birds. 


MILTON.  105 

XXI. 

MILTON. 
GREEN. 

A  picture  more  real  and  hardly  less  picturesque  of  Puritan 
life  is  to  be  seen  in  the  early  life  of  the  Puritan  poet, 
John  Milton.] 

Milton  is  not  only  the  highest,  but  the  completest  type 
ox  Puritanism.  His  life  is  absolutely  contemporary  with  that 
of  his  cause.  He  was  born  when  it  began  to  exercise  a 
direct  power  over  English  politics  and  English  religion ;  lie 
died  when  its  effort  to  mould  them  into  its  own  shape  was 
over,  and  when  it  had  again  sunk  into  one  of  many  influences 
to  which  we  owe  our  English  character.  His  earlier  verse, 
the  pamphlets  of  his  riper  years,  the  epics  of  his  age,  mark 
with  a  singular  precision  the  three  great  stages  in  its  history. 
His  youth  shows  us  how  much  of  the  gaiety,  the  poetic  ease, 
the  intellectual  culture  of  the  Renascence  1  lingered  in  a 
Puritan  home.  Scrivener  2  and  "  precisian  "  3  as  his  father 
was,  lie  was  a  skilful  musician ;  and  the  boy  inherited  his 
father's  skill  on  lute  and  organ.  One  of  the  finest  outbursts 
in  the  scheme  of  education  which  he  put  forth  at  a  later 
time  is  a  passage,  in  which  he  vindicates  the  province  of 
music  as  an  agent  in  moral  training.  His  home,  his  tutor, 
his  school  were  all  rigidly  Puritan ;  but  there  was  nothing 
narrow  or  illiberal  in  his  early  training.  "  My  father,"  he 
says,  "  destined  me  while  yet  a  little  boy  to  the  study  of 


1   The  age  of  Elizabeth.  2  A  scrivener  was  much  like  a 

modern  attorney.  3  The  Puritans  were  called  "  precisians* 

from   their  preciseness  of  speech    and  avoidance  of  oaths  and 
untruths. 


[06      l'ROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

humane  letters  ;  which  I  seized  with  such  eagerness  that 
from  the  twelfth  year  of  my  age  I  scarcely  ever  went  from 
my  lessons  to  bed  before  midnight."  But  to  the  Greek, 
Latin,  and  Hebrew  he  learnt  at  school,  the  scrivener  advised 
him  to  add  Italian  and  French.  Nor  were  English  letters 
neglected.  Spenser  gave  the  earliest  turn  to  his  poetic 
genius.  In  spite  of  the  war  between  playwright  and  pre- 
cisian, a  Puritan  youth  could  still  in  Milton's  days  avow  his 
love  of  the  stage,  "  if  Jonson's 4  learned  sock  be  on,  or 
sweetest  Shakspere,  Fancy's  child,  warble  his  native  wood- 
notes  wild,"  and  gather  from  the  "  masques  and  antique 
pageantry"  of  the  court  revel  hints  for  his  own  "  Comus  " 
and  "  Arcades."  Nor  does  any  shadow  of  the  coming  struggle 
with  the  Church  disturb  the  young  scholar's  reverie,  as  he 
wanders  beneath  ''  the  high  embowed  roof,  with  antique 
pillars,  massy  proof,  and  storied  windows  richly  dight, 
casting  a  dim  religious  light,"  or  as  he  hears  "the  pealing 
organ  blow  to  the  full-voiced  choir  below,  in  service  high 
and  anthem  clear." 

His  enjoyment  of  the  gaiety  of  life  stands  in  bright  con- 
trast with  the  gloom  and  sternness  of  the  later  Puritanism. 
In  spite  of  "  a  certain  reservedness  of  natural  disposition," 
which  shrank  from  "festivities  and  jests,  in  which  I  acknow- 
ledge my  faculty  to  be  very  slight,"  the  young  singer  could 
still  enjoy  the  "jest  and  youthful  jollity,"  of  the  world  around 
him,  of  its  "quips  and  cranks  and  wanton  wiles;"  he  could 
join  the  crew  of  Mirth,  and  look  pleasantly  on  at  the  village 
fair,  "  where  the  jolly  rebecks  sound  to  many  a  youth  and 
many  a  maid,  dancing  in  the  chequered  shade."  But  his 
pleasures  were  unreproved.  There  was  nothing  ascetic  in 
his  look,  in  his  slender,  vigorous  frame,  his  face  full  of  a 
delicate  yet  serious    beauty,   the    rich    brown    hair    which 

4  Ben  Jonson,  the  greatest  of  English  dramatists  who  followed 
Shakspere. 


MI  I. TON.  '"7 

clustered  over  his  brow  ;  and  the  words  we  have  quoted  show 
his  sensitive  enjoyment  of  all  that  was  beautiful.  But  fiom 
coarse  or  sensual  self-indulgence  the  young  Puritan  turned 
with  disgust:  "A  certain  reservedness  of  nature,  an  honest 
haughtiness  and  self-esteem,  kept  me  still  above  those  low 
descents  of  mind."  He  drank  in  an  ideal  chivalry  from 
Spenser,  but  his  religion  and  purity  disdained  the  outer 
pledge  on  which  chivalry  built  up  its  fabric  of  honour. 
"Every  free  and  gentle  spirit,"  said  Milton,  "without  that 
oath,  ought  to  be  born  a  knight."  It  was  with  this  temper 
that  he  passed  from  his  London  school,  St.  Paul's,  to 
Christ's  College  at  Cambridge,  and  it  was  this  temper  that 
he  preserved  throughout  his  University  career.  He  lelt 
Cambridge,  as  he  said  afterwards,  "  free  from  all  reproach, 
and  approved  by  all  honest  men,"  with  a  purpose  of  self- 
dedication  "  to  that  same  lot,  however  mean  or  high,  towards 
which  time  leads  me,  and  the  will  of  Heaven." 

Milton  was  engaged  during  the  civil  war''  in  strife  with 
Presbyterians  and  with  Royalists,  pleading  for  civil  and, 
religious  freedom,  for  freedom  of  social  life,  and  freedom  of 
the  press.  At  a  later  time  he  became  Latin  Secretary  to  the 
Protector,6  in  spite  of  a  blindness  which  had  been  brought 
on  by  the  intensity  of  his  study.  The  Restoration  found 
him  of  all  living  men  the  most  hateful  to  the  Royalists  ;  for 
it  was  his  "  Defence  of  the  English  People "  which  had 
justified  throughout  Europe  the  execution  of  the  King.7 
Parliament  ordered  his  book  to  be  burnt  by  the  common  hang- 
man ;  he  was  for  a  time  imprisoned,  and  even  when  released 
he  had  to  live  amidst  threats  of  assassination  from  fanatical 
Cavaliers.  To  the  ruin  of  his  cause  were  added  personal 
misfortunes  in  the  bankruptcy  of  the  scrivener  who  held 
the  bulk  of  his  property,  and  in  the  Fire  of  London,  which 

*  Between  Charles  tin-  First  ami  the  Parliament. 
,;  Cromwell.  '•   Charles  the  t-i/st. 


ioS      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

deprived  him  of  much  of  what  was  left.  As  age  grew  on, 
he  found  himself  reduced  to  comparative  poverty,  and 
driven  to  sell  his  library  for  subsistence.  Even  among  the 
sectaries  who  shared  his  political  opinions  Milton  stood  in 
religious  opinion  alone,  for  he  had  gradually  severed  him 
self  from  every  accepted  form  of  faith,  and  embraced 
Arianism,  and  had  ceased  to  attend  at  any  place  of  worship. 
Nor  was  his  home  a  happy  one.  The  grace  and  geniality 
of  his  youth  disappeared  in  the  drudgery  of  a  schoolmaster's 
life  and  amongst  the  invectives  ot  controversy.  In  age  his 
temper  became  stern  and  exacting.  His  daughters,  who 
were  forced  to  read  to  their  blind  father  in  languages  which 
they  could  not  understand,  revolted  utterly  against  their 
bondage. 

But  solitude  and  misfortune  only  brought  out  into  bolder 
relief  Milton's  inner  greatness.  There  was  a  grand  sim- 
plicity in  the  life  of  his  later  years.  He  listened  every 
morning  to  a  chapter  of  the  Hebrew  Bible,  and  after 
musing  in  silence  for  a  while  pursued  his  studies  till  mid- 
day. Then  he  took  exercise  for  an  hour,  played  for  another 
hour  on  the  organ  or  viol,  and  renewed  his  studies.  The 
evening  was  spent  in  converse  with  visitors  and  friends. 
For  lonely  and  unpopular  as  Milton  was,  there  was  one 
thing  about  him  which  made  his  house  in  Bunhill  Fields  a 
place  of  pilgrimage  to  the  wits  of  the  Restoration.  He  was 
the  last  of  the  Elizabethans.  He  had  possibly  seen  Shakspere, 
as  on  his  visits  to  London  after  his  retirement  to  Stratford 
the  playwright  passed  along  Bread  Street  to  his  wit  combats 
tat  the  Mermaid.  He  had  been  the  contemporary  of  Webster 
and  Massingei,  of  Herrick  and  Crashaw.  His  "Comus" 
and  "  Arcades  "  had  rivalled  the  masques  of  Ben  Jonson. 
It  was  with  a  reverence  drawn  from  thoughts  like  these  that 
Dryden  looked  on  the  blind  poet  as  he  sate,  clad  in  black, 
in  his  chamber  hung  with  rusty  green  tapestry,  his  fair  browu 


MILTON.  i    i 

hair  falling  as  of  old  over  a  calm,  serene  lace  that  still 
retained  much  of  its  youthful  beauty,  his  cheeks  delicately 
coloured,  his  clear  grey  eyes  showing  no  trace  of  their 
blindness.  But  famous,  whether  for  good  or  ill,  as  his  | 
writings  had  made  him,  during  fifteen  years  only  a  tew 
sonnets  had  broken  his  silence  as  a  singer.  It  was  now,  in 
his  blindness  and  old  age,  with  the  cause  he  loved  trodden 
under  foot  by  men  as  vile  as  the  rabble  in  "Comus,"  that 
the  genius  of  Milton  took  refuge  in  the  great  poem  on 
which  through  years  of  silence  his  imagination  had  still  been 
brooding. 

On  his  return  from  his  travels  in   Italy,  Milton  spoke  of 
himself  as  musing  on  "  a  work  not  to  be  raised  from  the 
heat  of  youth  or  the  vapours  of  wine,  like  that  which  flows 
at  waste  from  the  pen  of  some  vulgar  amourist  or  the  trencher 
fury  of  a  rhyming  parasite,  nor  to  be  obtained  by  the  invo- 
cation of  Dame  Memory  and  her  Siren  daughters ;  but  by 
devout  prayer  to  that  Eternal  Spirit  who  can  enrich  with  all 
utterance  and  knowledge,  and  sends  out  his  Seraphim,  with 
the  hallowed  fire  of  his  altar,  to  touch  and  purify  the  lips  of 
whom  He  pleases."     His  lips  were  touched  at  last.     Seven 
years  after  the  Restoration  appeared  the  "  Paradise  Lost," 
and  four  years  later  the  "  Paradise  Regained  "and  "  Samson 
Agonistes,"  in  the  severe  grandeur  of  whose  verse  we  see 
the  poet  himself  "fallen,"  like  Samson,  "on  evil  days  and 
evil   tongues,  with  darkness  and   with  danger    compassed 
round."     But  great  as  the  two  last  works  were,  their  great 
ness  was  eclipsed  by  that  of  their  predecessor.     The  whole 
genius  of  Milton  expressed  itself  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost." 
The  romance,  the  gorgeous  fancy,  the  daring  imagination 
which  he  shared  with  the  Elizabethan  poets,  the  large  but 
ordered  beauty  of  form  which  he  had  drunk  in  from  the 
literature  of  Greece  and  Rome,  the  sublimity  of  conception, 
the  loftiness  of  phrase  which  he  owed  to  the  Bible,  blended 
L2* 


no      PROSE  READINGS  FROM    ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

in  this  story  "  of  man's  first  disobedience,  and  the  fruit  oi 
that  forbidden  tree,  whose  mortal  taste  brought  death  into 
the  world  and  all  our  woe."  It  is  only  when  we  review  the 
strangely  mingled  elements  which  make  up  the  poem  that 
we  realize  the  genius  which  fused  them  into  such  a  perfect 
whole.  The  meagre  outline  of  the  Hebrew  legend  is  lost 
in  the  splendour  and  music  of  Milton's  verse.  The  ste'n 
idealism  of  Geneva  is  clothed  in  the  gorgeous  robes  of  the 
Renascence.  If  we  miss  something  of  the  free  play  of 
Spenser's  fancy,  and  yet  more  of  the  imaginative  delight  in 
their  own  creations  which  gives  so  exquisite  a  life  to  the 
poetry  of  the  early  dramatists,  we  find  in  place  of  these  the 
noblest  example  which  our  literature  affords  of  the  ordered 
majesty  of  classic  form. 


XXII. 

STRAFFORD'S  TRIAL  AND  DEATH. 
FORSTER. 

[James  struggled  fiercely  against  Puritanism  and  the  love  of 
freedom  it  aroused,  and  the  struggle  went  on  under  his  son 
Charles  the  First.  Parliament  after  parliament  was  dis- 
solved ;  and  Charles  at  last  resolved  to  govern  by  his  own 
will.  In  this  he  was  chiefly  supported  by  Sir  Thomas 
Wentworth,  afterwards  made  Earl  of  Strafford,  a  man  of 
great  genius,  but  of  an  arbitrary  and  despotic  temper, 
who  went  to  Ireland  as  its  governor,  and  strove  to  build 
up  an  Irish  army  which  might  be  used  to  keep  England 
and  English  freedom  at  the  King's  feet.  But  after  some 
years  troubles  broke  suddenly  out  in  Scotland  :  the  Scots 
rose  in  revolt ;  the  English  troops  whom  the  King  raised 
refused  to  fight  ;  the  Irish  army  proved  useless;  and  the 
whole  system  of  arbitrary  rule  came  to  an  end.  Charles 
was  forced  to  summon  the  Long  Parliament,  and  one  of 


STRAFFORD'S  TRIAL  AND  DEATH.       '" 

its  ftist  acts  was  to  impeach  Lord  Strafford.  His  trial 
before  the  Lords  was  in  effect  a  trial  of  the  King's 
government.] 

THREE  kingdoms,1  by  their  representatives,  were  present, 
and  for  fifteen  days,  the  period  of  the  duration  of  the  trial, 
"  it  was  daily,"  says  Baillie,  "  the  most  glorious  assembly 
the  isle  could  afford."  The  Earl a  himself  appeared  before  it 
each  day  in  deep  mourning,  wearing  his  George.3  The 
stern  and  simple  character  of  his  features  accorded  with  the 
occasion, — his  "countenance  manly  black,"  as  Whitelock 
terms  it,  and  his  thick  dark  hair  cut  short  from  his  ample 
forehead.     A  poet  who  was  present  exclaimed, 

"On  thy  brow 
Sate  terror  mixed  with  wisdom,  and  at  once 
Saturn  and  Hermes  in  thy  countenance." 

—To  this  was  added  the  deep  interest  which  can  never  be 
withheld  from  sickness  bravely  borne.  His  "ace  was  dashed 
with  paleness,  and  his  body  stooped  with  its  own  infirmities 
even  more  than  with  its  master's  cares.  This  was,  indee  I, 
so  evident,  that  he  was  obliged  to  allude  to  it  himself,  and 
it  was  not  seldom  alluded  to  by  others.  "  They  had  here," 
he  said,  on  one  occasion,  "this  rag  of  mortality  before 
them,  worn  out  with  numerous  infirmities,  which,  if  they 
tore  into  shreds,  there  was  no  great  loss,  only  in  the  spilling 
of  his,  they  would  open  a  way  to  the  blood  of  all  the 
nobility  in  the  land."  His  disorders  were  the  most  terrible 
to  bear  in  themselves,  and  of  that  nature,  moreover,  which 
can  least  endure  the  aggravation  of  mental  anxiety.  A 
severe  attack  of  stone,  gout  in  one  of  his  legs  to  an  extent 
even  with  him  unusual,  and  other  pains,  had  bent  all  their 

1  Scotland  and  Ireland  sent  representatives  to  join  those  of  the 
English  House  of  Commons  as  accusers.  ■  Strafford. 

3  The  insignia  of  the  Garter. 


H2      PROSE  READINGS    IR    M   ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

afflictions  upon  him.  Yet,  though  a  generous  sympathy  was 
demanded  on  this  score,  and  paid  by  not  a  few  of  his  wo'sl 
opponents,  it  availed  little  with  the  multitudes  that  were 
present.  Much  noise  and  confusion  prevailed  at  all  times 
through  the  hall ;  there  was  always  a  great  clamour  near  the 
doors  ;  and  we  have  it  on  the  authority  of  Rushworth  him- 
self,4 that  at  those  intervals  when  Strafford  was  busied  in 
preparing  his  answers,  the  most  distracting  "hubbubs" 
broke  out,  lords  walked  about  and  chatted,  and  commoners 
were  yet  more  offensively  loud.  This  was  unfavourable  to 
the  recollection,  for  disproof,  of  incidents  long  passed,  and 
of  conversations  forgotten  !  But  conscious  that  he  was  not 
to  be  allowed  in  any  case  permission  to  retire,  as  soon  as 
one  of  his  opponent  managers  had  closed  his  charge,  the 
Earl  calmly  turned  his  back  to  his  judges,  and  with  uncom- 
plaining composure,  conferred  with  his  secretaries  and 
counsel. 

As  the  trial  proceeded,  so  extraordinary  were  the  re- 
sources he  manifested,  that  the  managers  of  the  commons 
failed  in  much  of  the  effect  of  their  evidence.  Even  the 
clergy  who  were  present  forgot  the  imprisonment  of  the 
weak  and  miserable  Laud 5  (who  now  lay  in  prison,  stripped 
of  his  power  by  this  formidable  parliament,  which  the  very 
despotism  of  himself  and  Strafford  had  gifted  with  its 
potently  operative  force !)  and  thought  of  nothing  but  tho 
"  grand  apostate  "  6  before  them.  "  By  this  time,"  says  May, 
"  the  people  began  to  be  a  little  divided  in  opinion.  The 
clergy  in  general  were  so  much  fallen  into  love  and  admira- 
tion of  this  Earl,  that  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  was 
almost  quite  forgotten  by  them.     The  courtiers  cried  him 

4   The  Clerk  of  the  House  of  Commons.  5  Archbishop  of 

Canterbury,  and  fellow-minister  of  the  King  with  Strafford. 

6  Strafford  had  begun  his  parliamentary  life  as  a  supporter  of 
English  rights,  and  had  afterwards  s;one  over  to  the  side  cf 
the  Crown. 


STRAFFORD'S  TRIAL  AND  DEATH.  113 

up,  and  the  ladies  were  exceedingly  on  his  side.  It  seemed 
a  very  pleasant  object  to  see  so  many  Sempronias,  with  pen, 
ink,  and  paper  in  their  hands,  noting  the  passages,  and  dis- 
coursing upon  the  grounds,  of  law  and  state.  They  wire 
all  of  his  side,  whether  moved  by  pity,  proper  to  their  sex, 
or  by  ambition  of  being  able  to  judge  of  the  parts  of  the 
prisoner.  Even  the  chairman  of  the  committee  who  pre- 
pared his  impeachment  observes,  "Certainly  never  any 
man  acted  such  a  part,  on  such  a  theatre,  with  more 
wisdom,  constancy,  and  eloquence,  with  greater  reason, 
judgment,  and  temper,  and  with  a  better  grace  in  all  his 
words  and  gestures,  than  this  great  and  excellent  person 
did." 

[The  trial   ended  in  the   Earl's  condemnation  ;    and    in 
spite  of  his  trust  in  the  King,  Charles  left  him  to  die.] 

Strafford    moved    on    to    the    scaffold    with    undisturbed 
composure.     His   body,  so  soon  to  be  released,  had  given 
him  a  respite  of  its  infirmities  for  that  trying  hour.     Rush- 
worth,  the  Clerk  of  the  Parliament,  was  one  of  the  spectators, 
and  has  minutely  described  the  scene.      "  When  he  arrived 
outside  the  Tower,  the  Lieutenant  desired  him  to  take  coach 
at  the  gate,  lest  the  enraged  mob  should  tear  him  in  pieces. 
'  No,'  said  he,  '  Mr.   Lieutenant,  I  dare  look  death  in  the 
face,  and  the  people  too;  have  you  a  care  I  do  not  escape  ; 
'tis  equal  to  me  how  I  die,  whether  by  the  stroke  of  the 
executioner,  or  by  the  madness  and  fury  of  the  people,  if 
that  may    give    them    better    content.'"       Not    less    than 
100,000   persons,  who  had  crowded  in  from  all  parts,  were 
visible   on    Tower-hill,    in    a   long   and    dark    perspective. 
Strafford,  in  his  walk,  took  off  his  hat  frequently,  and  saluted 
them,  and  received  not  a  word  of  insult  or  reproach.      His 
step  and  manner  are  described  by  Rushworth  to  have  been 
those  of  "  a  general   marching  at   the  head   of  an  army,  to 
breathe  victory,  rather  than   those  of  a  condemned  man,  to 


p 

i  i  |      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

undergo  the  sentence  of  death."  At  his  side,  upon  the 
scaffold,  stood  his  brother,  Sir  George  Wentworth,  the 
Bishop  of  Armagh,  the  Earl  of  Cleveland,  and  others  of  his 
friends, — and  behind  them  the  indefatigable  collector  Rush- 
worth,  who  "  being  then  on  the  scaffold  with  him,"  as  he 
says,  took  down  the  speech  which,  having  asked  their 
patience  first,  Strafford  at  some  length  addressed  to  the 
people.  He  declared  the  innocence  of  his  intentions,  what- 
ever might  have  been  the  construction  of  his  acts,  and  said 
that  the  prosperity  of  his  country  was  his  fondest  wish. 
But  it  augured  ill,  he  told  them,  for  the  people's  happiness, 
to  write  the  commencement  of  a  reformation  in  letters  of 
blood.  "  One  thing  I  desire  to  be  heard  in,"  he  added, 
"  and  do  hope  that  for  Christian  charity's  sake  I  shall  be 
believed.  I  was  so  far  from  being  against  parliaments,  that 
I  did  always  think  parliaments  in  England  to  be  the  happy 
constitution  of  the  kingdom  and  nation,  and  the  best  means, 
under  God,  to  make  the  King  and  his  people  happy." 

He  then  turned  to  take  leave  of  the  friends  who  had 
accompanied  him  to  the  scaffold.  He  beheld  his  brother 
weeping  excessively.  "Brother,"  he  said,  "what  do  you 
see  in  me  to  cause  these  tears  ?  Does  any  innocent  fear 
betray  in  me— guilt?  or  my  innocent  boldness — atheism? 
Think  that  you  are  now  accompanying  me  the  fourth  time 
to  my  marriage-bed.  That  block  must  be  my  pillow,  and 
here  I  shall  rest  from  all  my  labours.  No  thoughts  of  envy, 
no  dreams  of  treason,  nor  jealousies,  nor  cares,  for  the 
king,  the  state,  or  myself,  shall  interrupt  this  easy  sleep. 
Remember  me  to  my  sister,  and  to  my  wife;  and  carry  my 
blessing  to  my  eldest  son,  and  to  Ann,  and  Arabella,  not 
forgetting  my  little  infant,  that  knows  neither  good  nor  evil, 
and  cannot  speak  for  itself.  God  speak  for  it,  and  bless 
it  !  "  While  undressing  himself,  and  winding  his  hair  under 
a  cap,  he  said,  looking  on  the  block  —  "  I  do  as  cheerfully 


DEATH  OF  HAMPDEN.  H5 

put  oft  my  doublet  at  this  time  as  ever  I  did  when  I  went 
to  bed." 

"Then,"  proceeds  Rushworth,  closing  this  memorable 
scene,  "  then  he  called,  '  Where  is  the  man  that  shall  do 
this  last  office  (meaning  the  executioner)  ?  call  him  to  me.' 
When  he  came  and  asked  him  forgiveness,  he  told  him  he 
forgave  him  and  all  the  world.  Then  kneeling  down  by  the 
block,  he  went  to  prayer  again  by  himself,  the  Bishop  of 
Armagh  kneeling  on  the  one  side,  and  the  minister  on  the 
other ;  to  the  which  minister  after  prayer  he  turned  himself, 
and  spoke  some  few  words  softly  ;  having  his  hands  lifted 
up,  the  minister  closed  his  hands  with  his.  Then  bowing 
himself  to  the  earth,  to  lay  down  his  head  on  the  block,  he 
told  the  executioner  that  he  would  first  lay  down  his  head 
to  try  the  fitness  of  the  block,  and  take  it  up  again,  before 
he  laid  it  down  for  good  and  all ;  and  so  he  did  ;  and  before 
he  laid  it  down  again  he  told  the  executioner  that  he  would 
give  him  warning  when  to  strike,  by  stretching  forth  his 
hands ;  and  then  he  laid  down  his  neck  en  the  block, 
stretching  out  his  hands  ;  the  excutioner  struck  off  his  head 
at  one  blow,  then  took  the  head  up  in  his  hand,  and  showed 
it  to  all  the  people,  and  said,  '  God  save  the  King  1 '  " 


XXIII. 

DEATH  OF  HAMPDEN. 
MACAULAY. 

I  For  a  time  the  King  seemed  to  consent  to  the  reforms  of 
the  Long  Parliament ;  but  he  at  last  broke  from  it,  col- 
lected an  army,  and  made  war  against  it.  The  Parlia- 
ment gathered  another  army,  and  after  a  drawn  battle  at 
Edgehill,  the  two  forces  encamped  in  the  valley  of  the 


liG      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Thames,  Charles  occupying  Oxford,  the  Parliamentary 
army  covering  London  by  taking  post  in  the  vale  of 
Aylesbury.  The  most  active  and  able  of  its  officers  was 
John  Hampden,  a  Buckinghamshire  squire,  who  had  le- 
fused  to  pay  an  illegal  tax  called  ship-money,  and  had 
become  one  of  the  leading  members  of  the  Long  Parlia 
ment.  Hampden  was  as  wise  and  temperate  as  he  was 
earnest  in  his  patriotism  ;  and  his  fall  was  the  severes 
loss  English  freedom  ever  sustained.] 

In  the  early  part  of  1643  the  shires  lying  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  London,  which  were  devoted  to  the  cause  of 
the  Parliament,  were  incessantly  annoyed  by  Rupert  '  and 
his  cavalry.  Essex2  had  extended  his  lines  so  far  that 
almost  every  point  was  vulnerable.  The  young  prince, 
who,  though  not  a  great  general,  was  an  active  nnd  enter- 
prising partisan,  frequently  surprised  posts,  burned  villages, 
swept  away  cattle,  and  was  again  at  Oxford  before  a  force 
sufficient  to  encounter  him  could  be  assembled. 

The  languid  proceedings  of  Essex  were  loudly  con- 
demned by  the  troops.  All  the  ardent  and  daring  spirits  in 
the  parliamentary  party  were  eager  to  have  Hampden  at 
their  head.  Had  his  life  been  prolonged,  there  is  every 
reason  to  believe  that  the  supreme  command  would  have 
been  entrusted  to  him.  But  it  was  decreed  that,  at  this 
conjuncture,  England  should  lose  the  only  man  who  united 
perfect  disinterestedness  to  eminent  talents,  the  only  man 
who,  being  capable  of  gaining  the  victory  for  her,  was 
incapable  of  abusing  that  victory  when  gained. 

In  the  evening  of  the  17th  of  June  Rupert  darted  out  of 
Oxford  with  his  cavalry  on  a  predatory  expedition.  At  three  in 
the  morning  of  the  following  day  he  attacked  and  dispersed  a 
few  parliamentary  soldiers  who  lay  at  Postcombe.     He  then 

1  Priiice  Rupert  was  a  Germa.71  nephew  of  Charles,  who  com- 
manded his  horse.  2  The  Earl  of  Essex  was  general  of  the 
Parliamentary  army. 


DEATH  OF   HAMPDEN.  "7 

Hew  to  Chinnor,  burned  the  village,  killed  or  took  all  the 
troops  who  were  quartered  there,  and  pxepared  to  hurry 
luck  with  his  booty  and  his  prisoners  to  Oxford. 

Hampden  had,  on  the  preceding  day,  strongly  represented 
to  Essex  the  danger  to  which  tliis  part  of  the  line  was  ex- 
posed. As  soon  as  he  received  intelligence  of  Rupert's 
incursion,  he  sent  off  a  horseman  with  a  message  to  the 
General.  The  cavaliers,  he  said,  could  return  only  by 
Chiselhampton  Bridge.  A  force  ought  to  be  instantly  de»- 
spatched  in  that  direction  for  the  purpose  of  intercepting 
them.  In  the  meantime  he  resolved  to  set  out  with  all  the 
cavalry  that  he  could  muster,  for  the  purpose  of  impeding 
the  march  of  the  enemy  till  Essex  could  take  measures  for 
cutting  off  their  retreat.  A  considerable  body  of  horse  and 
dragoons  volunteered  to  follow  him.  He  was  not  their 
commander.  He  did  not  even  belong  to  their  branch  of 
the  service.  But  "he  was,"  says  Lord  Clarendon, 
"  second  to  none  but  the  General  himself  in  the  observance 
and  application  of  all  men."  On  the  held  of  Chalgrove  he 
came  up  with  Rupert.  A  fierce  skirmish  ensued.  In  the 
first  charge  Hampden  was  struck  in  the  shoulder  by  two 
bullets,  which  broke  the  bone,  and  lodged  in  his  body. 
The  troops  of  the  Parliament  lost  heart  and  gave  way. 
Rupert,  after  pursuing  them  for  a  short  time,  hastened  to 
cross  the  bridge,  and  made  his  retreat  unmolested  to 
Oxford. 

Hampden,  with  his  head  drooping,  and  his  hands  leaning 
on  his  horse's  neck,  moved  feebly  out  of  the  battle.  The 
mansion  which  had  been  inhabited  by  his  father-in-law, 
and  from  which  in  his  youth  he  had  carried  home  his  bride 
Elizabeth,  was  in  sight.  There  still  remains  an  affecting 
tradition  that  he  looked  for  a  moment  towards  that  beloved 
house,  and  made  an  effort  to  go  thither  and  die.  But  the 
enemy  lay  in  that  direction.      He  turned  his  horse  towards 


nS      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Thame,  where  he  arrived  almost  fainting  with  agony.  The 
surgeon  dressed  his  wounds.  But  there  was  no  hope.  The 
pain  which  he  suffered  was  most  excruciating.  But  he 
endured  it  with  admirable  firmness  and  resignation.  His 
first  care  was  for  his  country.  He  wrote  from  his  bed 
several  letters  to  London  concerning  public  affairs,  and 
sent  a  last  pressing  message  to  the  head-quarters,  recom- 
mending that  the  dispersed  forces  should  be  concentrated. 
When  his  public  duties  were  performed,  he  calmly  prepared 
himself  to  die.  He  was  attended  by  a  clergyman  of  the 
Church  of  England,  with  whom  he  had  lived  in  habits  of 
intimacy,  and  by  the  chaplain  of  the  Buckinghamshire 
Greencoats,  Dr.  Spurton,  whom  Baxter  describes  as  an  able 
and  excellent  divine. 

A  short  time  before  Hampden's  death  the  sacrament  was 
administered  to  him.  He  declared  that  though  he  dis- 
liked the  government  of  the  Church  of  England,  he  yet 
agreed  with  that  Church  as  to  all  essential  matters  of  doc- 
trine. His  intellect  remained  unclouded.  When  all  was 
nearly  over,  he  lay  murmuring  faint  prayers  for  himself, 
and  for  the  cause  in  which  he  died.  "  Lord  Jesus,"  he 
exclaimed  in  the  moment  of  the  last  agony,  "  receive  my 
soul.     O   Lord,  save  my  country.      O   Lord,    be  merciful 

to ."     In  that  broken  ejaculation  passed  away  his  noble 

and  fearless  spirit. 

He  was  buried  in  the  parish  church  of  Hampden.3  His 
soldiers,  bareheaded,  with  reversed  arms  and  muffled  drums 
and  colours,  escorted  his  body  to  the  grave,  singing,  as  they 
marched,  that  lofty  and  melancholy  psalm  in  which  the 
fragility  of  human  life  is  contrasted  with  the  immutability 
of  Him  to  whom  a  thousand  years  are  as  yesterday  when 
it  is  passed,  and  as  a  watch  in  the  night. 

*  The  village  of  Hampdeti  on  the  Cotswolds,  by  Hampden  House. 


MARSTON  MOOR.  '  "' 

XXIV. 

MARSTON  MOOR. 
MARKHAM. 

[For  a  time  the  royal  armies  won  successes  over  those  of 
their  opponents,  and  the  King  gained  ground.  But  the 
Scots  at  last  came  to  the  aid  of  the  Parliament,  and 
their  armies  closed  on  York  ;  the  Scotch  under  Lord 
Leven,  a  Yorkshire  army  under  Fairfax,  and  one  from 
the  Eastern  Counties  with  Lord  Manchester  and  Crom- 
well at  its  head.  Lord  Newcastle,  who  commanded  for 
the  King  in  the  north,  appealed  for  aid  to  Charles  ;  and 
Prince  Rupert  was  sent  to  unite  with  him  and  to  relieve 
the  town.  The  forces  met  on  Marston  Moor,  an  open 
ground  a  few  miles  from  York.] 

Here  were  the  two  great  armies  drawn  up  in  battle 
array ;  a  deep  ditch,  and  a  strip  of  land  covered  with  waving 
corn,  a  few  hundred  paces  across,  alone  dividing  them.  We 
may  picture  to  ourselves  the  long  lines  of  horsemen,  with 
their  breast-plates  glittering  in  the  afternoon  sun  ;  the  solid 
masses  of  shouldered  pikes,  such  as  Velasquez  has  made  us 
familiar  with  in  his  glorious  picture  of  Las  Lanzas ;  and  the 
hundreds  of  fluttering  pennons  above  them,  of  all  shapes 
and  colours.  The  standard  of  Prince  Rupert,  with  its  red 
cross,  was  nearly  five  yards  long. 

At  about  five  in  the  afternoon,  there  was  a  silence — no 
movement  on  either  side.  A  fearful  ominous  pause.  The 
tension  of  such  silence,  at  such  a  moment,  was  more  than 
the  men  could  endure,  and  soon  "  in  Marston  corn-fields 
they  fell  to  singing  psalms."     Leven  ]  paused,  in  the  hope 

1  The  Scotch  General,  Lord  Leven,  took  supreme  command  in 
t/w  whole  Parliamentary  force. 


120      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

that  the  Royalists  would  advance  to  attack  him,  for  there 
would  be  an  evident  disadvantage  to  the  army  that  crossed 
the  ditch,  as  such  a  movement  must  necessarily  somewhat 
break  and  confuse  its  line.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  any 
such  intention  on  the  part  of  the  enemy ;  and  old  Leven, 
seeing  that  they  would  not  charge  him,  resolved,  by  the 
help  of  God,  to  charge  them.  It  was  seven  o'clock  before 
the  order  for  a  general  advance  was  sounded,  but  a 
"summer's  evening  is  as  long  as  a  winter's  day,"  and  there 
was  time  to  join  battle  before  night,  when  a  bright  harvest 
mot.n  would  give  light  enough  for  the  victors  to  complete 
their  work. 

The  whole  allied  line  came  down  through  the  corn  in  the 
bravest  order,  the  solid  squares  of  foot  and  masses  of  cavalry 
looking  like  so  many  thick  clouds.  They  joined  battle  with 
their  foes  along  the  line  01  the  ditch,  and  then  truly  the 
silence  was  exchanged  for  a  deafening  noise  of  fire,  clash- 
ing of  steel,  and  loud  defiant  shouts.  The  Royalists  were 
forced  back  at  all  points.  Manchester's  foot,  led  on  by 
General  Crawford,  drove  the  enemy  out  of  the  part  of  the 
ditch  in  their  front  with  some  slaughter,  capturing  four 
drakes.  This  enabled  the  main  battle  of  the  Scots  foot  to 
pass  the  barrier  with  little  opposition,  the  dragoons  having 
already  gained  the  line  of  Syke  beck,  or  the  "cross  ditch," 
as  they  called  it.  Sir  William  Fairfax  also,  on  the  right 
centre,  with  his  Yorkshire  foot,  beat  off  the  enemy  from  the 
hedge  in  his  front,  captured  a  demi-culverin  and  two  drakes,9' 
and  began  to  lead  his  men  up  Moor-lane. 

Thus  the  allies  had  carried  the  ditch,  and  gained  a 
position  on  the  moor  along  their  whole  line.  The  muske- 
teers in  the  ditch  fell  back,  and  the  battle  commenced 
again  on  a  new  line,  nearly  as  far  north  as  White  Syke 
close. 

2  Various  sorts  of  artillery. 


MARSTON  MOOR.  121 

Meanwhile  the  wings  had  delivered  their  charges.  David 
Leslie  and  Cromwell  fell  upon  the  Newark  horse  under 
Lord  Byron  close  along  the  ditch,  and,  after  some  sharp 
Gghting,  routed  and  dispersed  them.  But,  as  they  opened 
to  right  and  left,  the  main  body  of  the  Royalist  wing,  con 
sisting  of  Rupert's  life  guards  and  Grandison's  regiment, 
appeared  in  the  gap,  ready  to  charge,  some  few  hundred 
yards  away  on  the  moor. 

From  some  cause  or  other,  Cromwell  and  his  men  did 
pause  at  a  critical  moment,  when  David  Leslie  dashed  on 
to  the  charge,  and  met  Rupert's  horse  in  full  career,  giving 
the  troopers  of  Manchester's  brigade  time  to  recover  them- 
selves and  support  him.     A  desperate  conflict  ensued.     For 
some    time    the    two   bodies   of  horses    stood    at    swords' 
point,  hacking  one  another.     Ludlow  heard  a  story  that, 
having  discharged  their  pistols,   they   flung  them  at    each 
other's  heads,  and  fell  to  with  their  swords.     Young  Lord 
Grandison  received  as  many  as  ten  wounds.     At  last  the 
Royalists  wavered,  broke,  and  fled  in  irretrievable  rout,  riding 
over  and  dispersing  their  own  reserves  of  foot.     Yet  they  had 
bravely  disputed  every  inch  of  ground  for  nearly  an  hour. 
They  fled  along  Wilstrop  wood  side  as  fast  and  thick  as 
could  be,  hotly  pursued  by  the  victorious  allies,  who  chased 
them  down  the  York  road  for  three  miles,  committing  fearful 
slaughter,  to  which  the  bullets  found  long  afterwards  in  the 
heart  wood  of  Wilstrop  trees  bore  silent  testimony.    Rupert 
himself  would  have  been  taken  prisoner  if  he  had  not  hid 
himself  in  some    "  bean-lands."     He  played  the   "  creep- 
hedge,"  as  John  Vicars  spitefully  puts  it.     The  brigade  of 
Manchester's  foot,  under  Crawford,  advanced  by  the  side  of 
the  horse,   dispersing  the  enemy's  infantry  as  fast  as  they 
charged,  and  utterly  routing  Rupert's  foot  regiments,  under 
O'Neil,  which  formed  the  right  of  the  Royalist  line. 

All  this  time  the  Scots  brigade,  forming  the  centre,  was 


122       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

bearing  the  brunt  of  the  action,  and  repulsing  the  assaults 
of  Porter's  division,  led  on  by  Lord  Eythin  ;  while  the 
Fairfaxes  were  suffering  a  great  disaster  on  the  right. 

Sir  William  Fairfax,  after  crossing  the  ditch,  gallantly  led 
his  men  up  Moor-lane  through  a  terrific  cross-fire.  But,  as 
they  emerged  on  the  moor  in  column,  they  were  received 
with  murderous  volleys  from  Newcastle's  white-coats,3  so 
that  there  was  more  slaughter  here  than  on  any  other  part 
of  the  field.  They  wavered,  and  just  then  large  bodies  of 
their  own  flying  cavalry,  routed  by  Sir  William  Urry, 
galloped  over  them  in  wild  disorder.  They  were  thrown 
into  confusion,  and,  with  the  two  regiments  of  Scots 
reserves,  broke  and  fled  towards  Tadcaster. 

At  the  same  time  as  the  foot  advanced  up  Moor-lane,  tne 
engagement  had  commenced  between  the  horse  of  Fairfax 
and  Goring  on  the  extreme  right.  Sir  Thomas  was  given 
the  most  difficult  ground  on  the  whole  battle-field.  Besides 
several  ditches,  there  was  a  dense  undergrowth  of  furze  in 
that  part  of  the  moor,  which  threw  the  cavalry  into  some 
disorder  before  reaching  the  enemy.  Notwithstanding  these 
inconveniences,  he  saw  his  right  wing  properly  formed,  and 
then,  placing  himself  at  the  head  of  his  own  regiment, 
charged  the  enemy  in  most  gallant  style.  He  was  opposed 
to  Sir  William  Urry's  alternate  bodies  of  horse  and  muske- 
teers, and  was  a  long  time  hotly  engaged  at  swords'  point, 
suffering  terribly  from  the  galling  fire  of  the  muskets ;  but 
at  last  he  routed  this  part  of.  the  Royalist  wing,  and  his 
regiment  chased  the  fugitives  some  way  along  the  road  to 
York.  This  was  the  most  desperate  fight  in  the  whole 
battle,  and  many  of  the  officers  and  men  were  killed  and 
wounded.  Sir  Thomas  himself  received  a  deep  sabre  cut 
across  the  cheek,  the  mark  of  which  he  took  with  him  to 
his  grave. 

3  So  called  from  the  white  uniforms  Newcastle1  s  men  wore- 


MARSTON  MOOR.  123 

The  left  wing  of  the  Royalists  was  now  completely  vic- 
torious. Part  of  the  troops  galloped  up  the  hill,  and  began 
plundering  the  baggage  round  the  clump  of  trees.  The 
rest,  consisting  of  Newcastle's  white-coats,  and  the  cavalry 
led  by  Lucas  and  Urry,  made  a  furious  attack  upon  the 
right  flank  of  the  allied  centre,  which  was  already  hotly 
engaged  with  Porter's  division  in  front.  The  fate  of  the 
battle  now  depended  upon  the  valour  and  steadiness  of  this 
brigade  of  four  regiments  of  Scots  foot,  under  General 
P>aillie,  with  its  reserves  under  Lumsdaine.  "  They  had," 
says  Principal  Baillie,  "the  greatest  burden  of  the  conduct 
of  all."  If  they  could  hold  their  own  until  the  left  wing 
could  come  to  the  rescue,  the  day  was  won ;  if  not,  utter 
ruin  was  inevitable. 

Both  sides  saw  this,  and  the  struggle  became  desperate. 
One  eye-witness  declares  that  there  was  such  noise  with 
shot  and  clamour  of  shouts,  that  it  was  quite  deafening,  and 
the  smoke  of  the  powder  was  so  thick  that  no  light  could 
be  seen  but  what  preceeded  from  the  mouths  of  guns. 
Twice  the  Royalist  cavalry  charged  furiously,  and  twice 
were  they  gallantly  repulsed,  the  Scotch  regiments  in  alternate 
tcrtias  of  pikes  and  muskets  maintaining  their  ground  for 
nearly  an  hour.  At  a  third  charge  they  wavered,  and  some 
of  the  reserves  broke  and  fled.  But  Lumsdaine  and  Lord 
Lindsay  rallied  two  or  three  regiments,  and  at  that  moment 
David  Leslie  and  Manchester's  foot  appeared  on  the  scene, 
and  the  day  was  won.  Sir  Charles  Lucas's  horse  was 
killed,  and  he  himself  taken  prisoner  when  he  charged  the 
third  time. 

When  the  reserves  of  the  centre  broke,  the  old  Earl  of 
Leven  urged  them  to  stand  their  ground.     "  If  you  fly  from 
the  enemy,"  he  exclaimed,  "at  least  stand  by  your  general 
But  it  was  all  in  vain.     They  were  panic-stricken,  and  fled  ; 
and  he,  thinking,  like  Lord  Fairfax,  that  all  was  lost,  fled 


124      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

with  them.  We  can  tell  the  time  of  his  flight  by  the 
direction  he  took.  Instead  of  following  Lord  Fairfax  to 
Tadcaster,  he  turned  sharp  to  the  right,  because  Marston 
Fields  were  already  overrun  by  the  victorious  left  wing  of 
the  Royalists,  and  rode  away  to  Wetherby,  or,  as  some  say, 
as  far  as  Leeds.  Both  Scots  and  English,  friends  and 
enemies,  seem  to  have  taken  special  pleasure  in  retailing 
numerous  versions  of  the  poor  old  veteran's  mishap  or 
mistake,  not  remembering  how  ably  he  formed  the  line  of 
battle,  and  how  hard  he  strove  to  rally  the  fugitives. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  the  Marquis  of  Newcastle 
woke  up,  got  out  of  his  coach,  and  proceeded  to  join  in  the 
combat,  followed  by  his  brother,  a  page,  and  a  few  gentle- 
men volunteers.  He  had  an  independent  encounter  with  a 
pike-man ;  and  after  performing  other  prodigies  of  valour, 
was,  according  to  the  Duchess,  the  last  to  ride  off  the  field, 
leaving  his  coach  and-six  behind  him.  It  was  taken,  with 
all  his  correspondence,  some  of  which  criminated  poor  Sir 
John  Hotham. 

The  left  wing  of  the  allies  heard  of  the  reverses  on  the 
right  from  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  when  he  joined  them  with 
his  regiment  as  they  were  chasing  the  Royalists  along 
Wilstrop  wood  side.  He  and  David  Leslie,  with  Crawford 
and  Cromwell,  then  led  the  troops  across  the  moor,  to  the 
support  of  their  centre,  now  sorely  pressed  in  front  and 
flank.  When  the  plundering  Royalists  saw  their  approach, 
they  hurried  down  from  Marston  Fields.  For  a  time  the 
renewed  conflict  was  sharp,  but  it  did  not  last  long.  The 
Royalist  cavalry  of  their  left  wing,  demoralised  by  success, 
were  routed  by  Manchester's  horse ;  while  David  Leslie  and 
the  Scots  dragoons  charged  the  Royalist  foot  that  still  held 
their  ground. 

Newcastle's  regiment  of  white-coats  resolved  to  die  rather 
than  submit,  and  retreated  into  White  Syke  close ;  where,  as 


TRIAL  OF  THE  KING.  125 

the  Duchess  describes  it,  "they  showed  such  extraordinary 
valour  that  they  were  killed  as  they  stood,  in  rank  and  file." 
Captain  Camby,  who  came  up  with  some  of  Manchester's 
horse  in  support  of  Leslie,  and  was  one  of  the  first  to  enter 
the  close,  describes  it  as  "a  small  parcel  of  ground  ditched 
in."  For  a  whole  hour,  after  the  day  was  utterly  lost,  did 
these  brave  border  men  continue  to  fight,  repulsing  the 
charger,  of  the  cavalry,  and  of  Colonel  Frizell's  dragoons,  at 
near  push  of  pike.  They  would  take  no  quarter,  and  when 
the  allied  horse  did  enter  the  close,  there  were  not  thirty 
white-coats  alive.  Captain  Camby  protested  that  u  he  never, 
in  all  the  fights  he  was  ever  in,  saw  such  resolute  brave 
fellows,  and  that  he  saved  two  or  three  against  their  wills." 
Long  before  this  the  battle  was  won.  The  horse  of  Man- 
chester and  Leslie  charged  every  party  remaining  in  the  field 
until  all  were  fairly  routed  and  put  to  flight,  and  by  nine 
that  night  the  field  was  cleared  of  all  but  prisoners  and  dead. 
There  would  have  been  many  more  slain  in  the  heat  of  the 
pursuit  had  not  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax  galloped  up  and  down, 
calling  to  the  soldiers  to  spare  their  enemies.  "  Spare  the 
poor  deluded  countrymen,"  he  cried  ;  "O  spare  them  who  are 
misled,  and  know  not  what  they  do."  The  whole  Royalist 
army  fled  in  utter  rout  to  York. 


XXV. 

TRIAL  OF  THE  KING. 
FORSTER. 

[Another  great  overthrow  at  Naseby  completed  the  ruin  of 
the  royal  armies  ;  and  Charles  was  at  last  driven  to  give 
himself  up  to  the  Scots,  who  surrendered  him  to  the 
Parliament.  Strife,  however,  had  now  broken  out  between 
the  Parliament  and  its  victorious  army,  and  Charles  used 
13 


126      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

this  to  bring  about  a  fresh  and  desperate  royalist  rising, 
which  was  supported  by  an  army  from  Scotland,  which 
had  now  turned  on  his  side.  All,  however,  were  defeated; 
and  in  their  anger  the  army,  which  had  now  mastered  the 
Parliament  by  driving  out  the  greater  part  of  its  members, 
determined  that  he  should  be  put  to  death.  The  House 
of  Commons  ordered  a  court  to  be  set  up  for  his  trial 
under  the  Lord  President  Bradshaw,  and  to  this  Charles 
was  summoned.] 

The  King  was  brought  privately  from  Windsor  to  St. 
James's,  and  on  the  following  morning,  the  20th  of  January, 
1649,  conducted  by  Colonel  Harrison  from  St.  James's  to 
Westminster.  A  scene  awaited  him  there,  which  called,  and 
not  in  vain,  for  an  exercise  of  dignity  and  firmness  unsur- 
passed in  the  history  of  kings. 

Westminster  Hall,  fitted  up  as  a  "  high  court  of  justice  " 
received  him.  In  the  centre  of  the  court,  on  a  crimson 
velvet  chair,  sat  Bradshaw  dressed  in  a  scarlet  robe,  and 
covered  by  his  famous  "  broad-brimmed  hat ; "  with  a  desk 
and  velvet  cushion  before  him  ;  Say  and  Lisle  on  each  side 
of  him  ;  and  the  two  clerks  of  the  court  sitting  below  him 
at  a  table,  covered  with  a  rich  Turkey  carpet,  on  which 
were  laid  the  sword  of  state  and  a  mace.  The  rest  of  the 
court,  with  their  hats  on,  and,  according  to  Rushworth,  "  in 
their  best  habits,"  took  their  seats  on  side  benches  hung 
with  scarlet.  A  numerous  guard  of  gentlemen  carrying 
partisans  divided  themselves  on  each  side.  Such  was  the 
simple  appearance  in  itself  of  this  memorable  court.  When 
its  members  had  all  taken  their  seats,  the  great  gates  of  the 
hall  were  thrown  open,  and  the  vast  area  below  was  at  once 
filled  with  crowds  of  the  English  people,  eager  to  witness 
the  astonishing  spectacle  of  a  monarch  brought  to  account 
for  crimes  committed  in  the  period  of  his  delegated  authority. 
This  presence  of  the  people  was   the  grandest  feature  of 


TRIM.  OF  THE  KING.  127 

the   scene.      Surrounding    galleries   were   also    filled   with 
spectators. 

Charles  entered  and  advanced  up  the  side  of  the  hall 
next  the  Thames,  from  the  house  of  Sir  Robert  Cotton, 
lie  was  attended  by  Colonels  Tomlinson  and  Hacker,  by 
thirty-two  officers  holding  partisans,  and  by  his  own  ser- 
vants. The  serjeant-at-arms,  with  his  mace,  received  him 
and  conducted  him  to  the  bar,  where  a  crimson  velvet 
chair  was  placed  for  him,  facing  the  court.  After  a  stern 
and  steadfast  gaze  on  the  court,  and  on  the  people  in  the 
galleries  on  each  side  of  him,  Charles  placed  himself  in 
the  chair — and  the  moment  after,  as  if  recollecting  some- 
thing, rose  up,  and  turned  about,  looking  down  the  vast 
hall,  first  on  the  guards  which  were  ranged  on  its  left  or 
western  side,  and  then  on  the  eager  waving  multitude  of 
the  people  which  filled  the  space  on  the  right.  No  visible 
emotion  escaped  him  ;  but  as  he  turned  again,  his  eye  fell 
upon  the  escutcheon  which  bore  the  newly-designed  arms 
of  the  Commonwealth,  on  each  side  of  which  sat  Oliver 
Cromwell  and  Henry  Marten,  and  he  sank  into  his  seat. 
The  guard  attending  him  divided  on  each  side  of  the  court, 
and  the  servants  who  followed  him  to  the  bar  stood  on  the 
left  of  their  master. 

Bradshaw  now  addressed  the  King,  and  told  him  that  the 
Commons  of  England,  assembled  in  parliament,  being 
deeply  sensible  of  the  evils  and  calamities  which  had  been 
brought  on  the  nation,  and  the  innocent  blood  that  had 
been  spilled,  and  having  fixed  on  him  as  the  principal 
author,  had  resolved  to  make  inquisition  for  this  blood,  and 
to  bring  him  to  trial  and  judgment  ;  and  had  therefore  con- 
stituted this  court,  before  which  he  was  brought  to  hear  his 
charge,  after  which  the  court  would  proceed  according  to 
justice.  Coke,  then,  the  solicitor,  delivered  in,  in  writing  the 
charge,  which  the  clerk  read.     The   King  endeavoured  to 


128      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

interrupt  the  reading,  but  the  president  commanded  the 
clerk  to  go  on,  and  told  Charles,  that  if  he  had  anything  to 
say  after,  the  court  would  hear  him.  The  charge  stated, 
that  he,  the  King,  had  been  intrusted  with  a  limited  power 
to  govern  according  to  law ;  being  obliged  to  use  that 
power  for  the  benefit  of  the  people,  and  the  preservation 
of  their  rights  and  liberties  ;  but  that  he  had  designed  to 
erect  in  himself  an  unlimited  power,  and  to  take  away 
the  remedy  of  misgovernment,  reserved  in  the  fundamental 
constitution,  in  the  right  and  power  of  frequent  and  suc- 
cessive parliaments.  It  then  proceeded  to  enumerate  the 
principal  occasions  on  which,  in  execution  of  his  purpose 
of  levying  war  on  the  present  parliament,  he  had  caused 
the  blood  of  many  thousands  of  the  free  people  of  this 
nation  to  be  shed  :  and  it  affirmed  all  these  purposes  and 
this  war  to  have  been  carried  on  for  the  upholding  a  per- 
sonal interest  of  will  and  power,  and  a  pretended  preroga- 
tive to  himself  and  his  family,  against  the  public  interest, 
and  common  right,  liberty,  justice,  and  peace,  of  the  people 
of  this  nation. — The  charge  being  read,  the  president 
demanded  Charles's  answer. 

During  the  reading  Charles  is  said  to  have  smiled  at  the 
words  "tyrant"  and  "traitor"  which  occurred  in  the  course 
of  it.  But,  two  or  three  minutes  after,  a  trivial  incident 
changed  the  current  of  his  thoughts,  and  gave  him  a  more 
awful  sense  of  the  situation  in  which  he  stood.  In  touch- 
ing Coke  gently  on  the  shoulder  with  his  cane,  and  bidding 
him  '  Hold,'  its  gold  head  dropped  off;  and  he,  who  was 
accustomed  to  be  served  with  eager  anticipation  and  slavish 
genuflexion,  was  left  to  take  it  up  himself.  This  omen  is 
said  to  have  waked  his  superstition.  It  was  no  less  calcu- 
lated to  affect  him  through  his  reason. 

[After  some  days  the  trial  drew  to  its  end.] 

The  duty   of  "preparing   the  draft  of  a  final   sentence 


TRIAL.  OF    1  III.  KING.  i'-") 

with  a  Mink  for  the  manner  of  death,"  was  now  entrusted 
to  Henry  Marten  (who  had  attended  every  day  of  the  trial). 
to  Thomas  Scot,  to  Henry  Ireton,  to  Harrison,  Say,  Lisle, 
and  Love.  The  next  day  (the  26th  of  January)  this  sentence 
was  engrossed  at  a  private  meeting,  and  the  27th  appointed 
for  the  last  sitting  of  the  court. 

On  that  memorable  and  most  melancholy  day,  the  King 
was  brought  for  the  last  time  to  Westminster  Hall.  As  he 
proceeded  along  the  passages  to  the  court,  some  of  the 
soldiers  and  of  the  rabble  set  up  a  cry  of  "  Justice  !  " 
"Justice,  and  execution!"  These  men  distrusted  the 
good  faith  of  their  leaders ;  and,  seeing  that  six  days  had 
now  passed  without  any  conclusion,  suspected,  as  the 
manner  of  rude  and  ignorant  men  is,  that  there  was  some 
foul  play  and  treachery.  One  of  the  soldiers  upon  guard 
said,  "  God  bless  you,  sir."  The  King  thanked  him  ;  but 
his  officer  struck  him  with  his  cane.  "  The  punishment," 
said  Charles,  "  methinks,  exceeds  the  offence."  The  King, 
when  he  had  retired,  asked  Herbert,  who  attended  him, 
whether  he  had  heard  the  cry  for  justice  ;  who  answered, 
he  did,  and  wondered  at  it.  "  So  did  not  I,"  said 
Charles  :  "  the  cry  was  no  doubt  given  by  their  officers, 
for  whom  the  soldiers  would  do  the  like,  were  there 
occasion." 

Placed  for  the  last  time  at  the  bar,  Charles  without  wait- 
ing for  the  address  of  Bradshaw,  whose  appearance  be- 
tokened judgment,  desired  of  the  court,  that,  before  an 
''ugly  sentence  "  was  pronounced  upon  him,  he  might  be 
heard  before  the  two  houses  of  parliament,  he  having  some- 
thing to  suggest  which  nearly  concerned  the  peace  and 
liberty  of  the  kingdom.  The  court  would  at  once  have 
rejected  this  proposal,  (which  was  in  effect  tantamount  to  a 
demand  for  the  reversal  of  all  that  had  been  done,  and  a 
revocation  of  the  vote  that  had   been   passed,  declaring  the 


130      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

people,  under  God,  the  original  of  all  just  power,  and  that 
the  Commons  house  in  parliament,  as  representing  the 
people,  were  the  supreme  power,)  but  for  the  expressed 
dissatisfaction  of  Commissioner  Downes,  a  timid  and  insin- 
cere man,  in  consequence  of  which  the  sitting  was  broken 
up,  and  the  court  retired  to  deliberate  in  private.  They 
returned  in  half  an  hour,  with  an  unanimous  refusal  of  the 
request. 

It  is  supposed  by  many  writers,  that  Charles  purposed, 
in  case  they  had  assented,  to  resign  the  crown  in  favour  of 
his  son.  But  if  so,  it  has  been  fairly  asked,  Why  did  he  not 
make  the  offer  known  in  some  other  way  ?  It  would  have 
produced  its  effect  as  certainly  if  promulgated  in  any  other 
mode,  and  would  at  all  events  have  bequeathed  to  posterity 
the  full  knowledge  "  to  what  extremity  he  was  willing  to 
advance  for  the  welfare  of  his  people,  and  to  save  his 
country  from  the  stain  of  regicide."  The  supposition  of 
that  intention  does  scarcely,  in  fact,  seem  probable.  Charles 
had  wedded  himself  to  his  kingly  office,  and  had  now  ac- 
customed himself  to  look  on  death  as  the  seal  that  should 
stamp  their  union  and  the  fame  of  martyrdom,  indelibly  and 
for  ever.  His  real  purpose  in  making  the  request  must 
remain  a  secret,  equally  with  the  well-considered  motives  of 
the  commissioners  in  refusing  it. 

Bradshaw  now  rose  to  pronounce  the  sentence,  "  What 
sentence,"  he  said,  "  the  law  affirms  to  a  tyrant,  traitor, 
and  public  enemy,  that  sentence  you  are  now  to  hear 
read  unto  you,  and  that  is  the  sentence  of  the  court." 
The  clerk  then  read  it  at  large  from  a  scroll  of  vellum. 
After  reciting  the  appointment  and  purpose  of  the  high 
court,  the  refusal  of  the  King  to  acknowledge  it,  and  the 
charges  proved  upon  him,  it  concluded  thus  :  "  for  all 
which  treasons  and  crimes,  this  court  doth  adjudge  that 
he  the  said  Charles  Stuart,  as  a  tyrant,  traitor,   murdeier, 


TRIM.  OF  THE  KING.  nr 

'  public  enemy,  shall  be  put  to  death  by  severing  his 
head  from  his  body."  Then  Bradshaw  again  rose  and 
said,  "The  sentence  now  read  and  published  is  the  act, 
sentence,  judgment,  and  resolution  of  the  whole  court ;  " 
upon  which,  all  the  commissioners  stood  up  by  way 
of  declaring  their  assent  The  unhappy  King  now  solicited 
permission  to  speak,  but  was  refused.  The  words  which 
passed  between  him  and  Bradshaw  are  worthy  of  record, 
as  a  most  pathetic  consummation  of  the  melancholy 
scene.  The  fortitude  and  dignity  which  had  sustained 
Charles  throughout,  appears  at  last  to  have  somewhat 
given  way;  but  in  its  place  we  recognise  a  human  suffer- 
ing and  agony  of  heart  to  the  last  degree  affecting.  "  Will 
you  hear  me  a  word,  sir?"  he  asked.  "Sir,"  replied 
Bradshaw,  "you  are  not  to  be  heard  after  the  sentence." 
"No,  sir?"  exclaimed  the  King.  "No,  sir,  by  jour 
favour,"  retorted  the  president.  "Guards,  withdraw  your 
prisoner."  Charles  then  exclaimed,  with  a  touching 
struggle  of  deep  emotion,  "  I  may  speak  after  the  sentence  ! 
By  your  favour,  sir! — I   may  speak  after  the  sentence! — ■ 

Ever  ! — By  your  favour "     A  stern  monosyllable  from 

Bradshaw  interrupted  him, — "  Hold  ! "  and  signs  were 
given  to  the  guards.  With  passionate  entreaty  the  King 
again    interfered.  "  The    sentence,   sir  !    I    say,    sir,    1 

do "     Again  Bradshaw  said,   "  Hold  !  "  and  the  King 

was  taken  .out  of  court  as  these  words  broke  from  him— 
"  I  am  not  suffered  to  speak.  Expect  what  justice  other 
people  will  have  ! " 


XXVI. 
EXECUTION  OF  CHARLES  THE  FIRST, 

MASSON. 

[Great  efforts  were  made  to  save  the  King,  but  the  Commons 
refused  to  spare  his  life,  and  on  Tuesday,  the  thirtieth  of 
January,  1649,  he  was  beheaded  at  Whitehall.] 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  pro- 
cession was  formed,  from  St.  James's,  through  the  Park, 
to    Whitehall.      With   Bishop  Juxon x   on  his   right  hand, 
Colonel  Tomlinson  on  his  left,   Herbert2  following  close, 
and  a  guard  of  halberdiers  in  front  and  behind,  the  King 
walked,   at   his   usual   very   fast   pace,   through   the    Park, 
soldiers    lining    the    whole   way,    with    colours    flying   and 
drums  beating,  and   such  a  noise  rising  from  the  gathered 
crowd  that  it  was  hardly  possible  for  any  two  in  the  pro- 
cession to  hear  each  other  speak.     Herbert  had  been  told 
to   bring   with    him    the    silver  clock   or  watch   that  hung 
usually  by  the  King's  bedside,  and  on  their  way  through  the 
Park  the  King  asked  what  o'clock  it  was  and  gave  Herbert 
the  watch   to  keep.      A  rude    fellow   from  the  mob  kept 
abreast  with  the  King  for  some  time,  staring  at  his  face  as 
if  in  wonder,  till  the  Bishop  had  him  turned  away.     There 
is  a  tradition  that,  when  the  procession  came  to  the  end  of 
the  Park,  near  the  present  passage  from  Spring  Gardens, 
die    King  poinded   to  a  tree,  and  said  that  tree  had  been 
planted  by  his  brother  Henry. 

Arrived  at  last  at  the  stairs  leading  into  Whitehall,   he 
was  taken,  through  the  galleries  of  the  Palace,  to  the  bed- 
1  The  Bisliob  of  London.       ?  Charles  s  personal  attendant. 


EXECUTION  OF  CHARLES  THE  FIRST.  133 

chamber  he  had  usually  occupied  while  residing  there- 
and  here  he  had  some  farther  time  allowed  him  for  rest 
and    devotion    with    Juxon    alone.     Having   sent    Herbert 

for  some  bread  ami  wine,  he  ate  a  mouthful  of  the  bread 
and  drank  a  small  glass  of  claret.  Here  Herbert  broke 
down  so  completely  that  he  felt  he  could  not  accompany 
the  King  to  the  scaffold,  and  Juxon  had  to  take  from 
him  the  white  satin  cap  he  had  brought  by  the  King's 
orders,  to  be  put  on  at  the  fatal  moment.  At  last,  a  little 
after  twelve  o'clock,  Hacker's3  signal  was  heard  outside, 
and  Juxon  and  Herbert  went  on  their  knees,  affectionately 
kissing  the  King's  hands.  Juxon  being  old  and  feeble,  the 
King  helped  him  to  rise,  and  then,  commanding  the  door 
to  be  opened,  followed  Hacker.  With  soldiers  for  his 
guard,  he  was  conveyed  along  some  of  the  galleries  of 
the  old  Palace,  now  no  longer  extant,  to  the  New  Ban- 
queting Hall,  which  Inigo  Jones  had  built,  and  which 
still  exists.  Besides  the  soldiers,  many  men  and  women 
had  crowded  into  the  Hall,  from  whom,  as  his  Majesty 
passed  on,  there  was  heard  a  general  murmur  of  commis- 
eration and  prayer,  the  soldiers  themselves  not  objecting, 
but  appearing  grave  and  respectful. 

Through  a  passage  broken  in  the  wall  of  the  Banqueting 
Hall,  or  more  probably  through  one  of  the  windows,  dis- 
mantled for  the  purpose,  Charles  emerged  on  the  scaffold, 
in  the  open  street,  fronting  the  site  of  the  present  Horse 
Guards.  The  scaffold  was  hung  with  black,  and  carpeted 
with  black,  the  block  and  the  axe  in  the  middle  ;  a  number 
of  persons  already  stood  upon  it,  among  whom  were  several 
men  with  black  mask's  concealing  their  faces ;  in  the  street 
in  front  all  round  the  scaffold,  were  companies  of  foot  and 
horse ;  and  beyond  these,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 

3  Colonel  Hacker  commanded  the  soldiers   *et  apart  for  the 
guard  over  the  execution. 
13* 


i.;4      PKOSE  kEADINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

towards  Charing  Cross  on  the  one  side  and  Westminster 
A ''hey  on  the  other,  was  a  closely  packed  multitude  of 
spectators.  The  King,  walking  on  the  scaffold,  looked 
earnestly  at  the  block,  and  said  something  to  Hacker  as  if 
he  thought  it  were  too  low ;  after  which,  taking  out  a  small 
piece  of  paper,  on  which  he  had  jotted  some  notes,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  address  those  standing  near  him. 

What  he  said  may  have  taken  about  ten  minutes  or  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  to  deliver,  and  appears,  from  the  short- 
hand report  of  it  which  has  been  preserved,  to  have  been 
rather  incoherent.  "  Now,  Sirs,"  he  said  at  one  point, 
"  I  must  show  you  both  how  you  are  out  of  the  way, 
and  I  will  put  you  in  the  way.  First,  you  are  out  of 
the  way ;  for  certainly  all  the  way  you  ever  have  had  yet, 
as  I  could  find  by  anything,  is  in  the  way  of  conquest. 
Certainly  this  is  an  ill  way ;  for  conquest,  Sirs,  in  my 
opinion,  is  never  just,  except  there  be  a  good  just  cause, 
either  for  matter  of  wrong,  or  just  title ;  and  then,  if  you 
go  beyond  it,  the  first  quarrel  that  you  have  to  it,  that 
makes  it  unjust  at  the  end  that  was  just  at  first."  A  little 
farther  on,  when  he  had  begun  a  sentence,  "  For  the  King 
indeed  I  will  not,"  a  gentleman  chanced  to  touch  the  axe. 
"  Hurt  not  the  axe,"  he  interrupted  ;  "  that  may  hurt  me," 
and  then  resumed.  "As  for  the  King,  the  Laws  of  the 
Land  will  clearly  instruct  you  for  that :  therefore,  because 
it  concerns  my  own  particular,  I  only  give  you  a  touch  of 
it.  For  the  People :  and  truly  I  desire  their  liberty  and 
freedom  as  much  as  anybody  whomsoever ;  but  I  must  tell 
you  that  their  liberty  and  freedom  consists  of  having  of 
Government  those  laws  by  which  their  life  and  their  goods 
may  be  most  their  own.  It  is  not  having  share  in  Govern- 
ment, Sirs  ;  that  is  nothing  pertaining  to  them.  A  subject 
and  a  sovereign  are  clean  different  things  ;  and  therefore, 
until  they  do  that— I   mean,   that   you   put  the  People   in 


EXECUTION  OF  CHARLES  THE  FIRST.  135 

that  liberty,  as  I  say — certainly  they  will  never  enjoy  them- 
selves." In  conclusion  he  said  he  would  have  liked  to 
have  a  little  more  time,  so  as  to  have  put  what  he  meant  to 
say  "in  a  little  more  order,  and  a  little  better  digested," 
and  gave  the  paper  containing  the  heads  of  his  speech  to 
Juxon. 

As  he  had  said  nothing  specially  about  Religion,  Juxon 
reminded  him  of  the  omission.  "  I  thank  you  very  heartily, 
my  Lord,"  said  Charles,  "for  that  I  had  almost  forgotten 
it.  In  troth,  Sirs,  my  conscience  in  Religion,  I  think  it 
very  well  known  to  the  world ;  and  therefore.  I  declare 
before  you  all  that  I  die  a  Christian,  according  to  the 
profession  of  the  Church  of  England  as  I  found  it  left  me 
by  my  father;  and  this  honest  man  (the  Bishop)  I  think 
will  witness  it."  There  were  some  more  words  addressed 
particularly  to  Hacker,  and  the  other  officers ;  and  once 
more,  seeing  a  gentleman  go  too  near  the  axe,  he  called 
out,  "  Take  heed  of  the  axe  ;  pray  take  heed  of  the  axe." 
Then,  taking  the  white  satin  cap  from  Juxon,  he  put  it  on, 
and,  with  the  assistance  of  Juxon  and  the  chief  executioner, 
pushed  his  hair  all  within  it.  Some  final  sentences  of  pious 
import  then  passed  between  the  King  and  Juxon,  and  the 
King,  having  taken  off  his  cloak  and  George,  and  given  the 
latter  to  Juxon,  with  the  word  "  Remember,"  knelt  down 
and  put  his  neck  on  the  block.  After  a  second  or  two  he 
stretched  out  his  hands,  and  the  axe  descended,  severing  the 
head  from  the  body  at  one  blow.  Thee  was  a  vast  shudder 
through  the  mob,  and  then  a  universal  groan. 


I36      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

XXVII. 
ESCAPE  OF   CHARLES    THE    SECOND. 

GUIZOT. 

The  death  of  the  King  was  followed  by  the  conquest  of 
Ireland  and  Scotland.  Both  were  wrought  by  Oliver 
Cromwell,  who  had  done  much  to  win  the  victories  of 
Marston  Moor  and  Naseby,  and  who  became,  on  the  re- 
signation of  Fairfax,  Lord  General  of  the  Parliamentary 
Army.  He  subdued  Ireland  by  measures  of  ruthless  se- 
verity ;  invaded  Scotland,  which  had  proclaimed  Charles, 
the  son  of  the  dead  King,  as  its  sovereign  ;  won  a  great 
victory  at  Dunbar,  and  drove  the  young  "  King  of  Scots," 
as  he  was  called,  to  march  into  England,  in  hope  of 
raising  a  fresh  civil  war.  At  Worcester  he  was  overtaken 
by  Cromwell,  utterly  defeated,  and  driven  to  flight.  He 
first  sought  shelter  at  a  house  in  the  valley  of  the  Severn.] 

Whiteladies  was  the  first  asylum  of  Charles  ;  he  arrived 
there  at  daybreak  on  the  fourtli  of  September,  scarcely 
twelve  hours  after  having  escaped  from  Worcester.  He 
immediately  cut  off  his  hair,  stained  his  hands  and  face, 
and  assumed  the  coarse  and  threadbare  garments  of  a 
peasant ;  and  five  brothers  Penderell,  all  of  them  labourers, 
woodmen  or  domestics  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Giffard,  un- 
dertook to  secure  his  safety.  "  This  is  the  King,"  said 
Mr.  Giffard  to  William  Penderell  ;  "  thou  must  have  a 
care  of  him,  and  preserve  him  as  thou  didst  me."  They 
accordingly  took  Charles  to  Boscobel  House,  and  con- 
cealed him  in  the  adjoining  woods.  It  was  raining  heavily: 
Richard  Penderell  procured  a  blanket,  and  spread  it  foi 
the  King  under  one  of  the  largest  trees  ;  while  his  sister, 
Mrs.   Yates,   brought  a  supply  of  bread,   milk,   eggs,  and 


ESCAPE  OF  CHARLES  THE  SECOND.  137 

butter.  "Good  woman,"  said  Charles  to  her,  "can  you 
be  faithful  to  a  distressed  Cavalier?"  "Yes,  Sir,"  she  re- 
plied, "  and  I  will  die  sooner  than  betray  you."  Some 
soldiers  passed  on  the  outskirts  of  the  wood,  but  did  not 
enter  it,  because  the  storm  was  more  violent  over  the  wood 
than  in  the  open  fields.  On  the  next  day,  the  King 
concealed  himself  among  the  leafy  branches  of  a  large  oak, 
and  from  this  cover  he  could  see  the  soldiers  scouring  the 
country  in  search  of  him.  One  night  he  left  his  hiding- 
place,  to  endeavour  to  cross  the  Severn,  and  take  refuge  in 
Wales ;  but  as  he  was  passing  a  mill  with  Richard 
Penderell,  his  guide,  the  miller  called  out,  "Who  goes 
there?"  "Neighbours  going  home,"  answered  Penderell. 
"  If  you  be  neighbours,  stand,"  cried  the  miller,  "  or  I  will 
knock  you  down."  They  fled  as  fast  as.  they  could,  and 
were  pursued  for  some  time  by  several  men  who  came  out 
of  the  mill  with  the  miller.  In  another  of  their  attempts  to 
escape,  while  fording  a  small  river,  the  King,  who  was  agood 
swimmer,  helped  his  guide  across,  as  he  was  unable  to 
swim. 

He  wandered  for  seven  days  an  this  manner  through 
the  country,  changing  his  place  of  refuge  almost  daily, 
sometimes  hidden  beneath  the  hay  in  a  barn,  sometimes 
concealed  in  one  of  those  obscure  hiding-places  which 
served  as  a  retreat  to  the  proscribed  Catholic  priests  ;  hear- 
ing or  seeing,  at  every  moment,  the  republican  soldiers 
who  had  been  sent  in  search  of  him.  In  concert  with  his 
faithful  guards,  and  with  Lord  Wilmot,  who  had  rejoined 
him,  he  resolved  to  make  for  the  sea-coast,  near  Bristol,  in 
the  hope  of  being  able  to  find  a  vessel  to  take  him  over  to 
France.  He  now  changed  his  disguise,  assumed  a  servant's 
livery  instead  of  his  peasant's  garb,  and  set  off  on  horse- 
back, under  the  name  of  William  Jackson,  carrying  behind 
him  his  mistress,  Miss  Jane  Lane,  sister  of  Colonel   Lane. 


1 38      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

of  Bentley,  his  last  place  of  refuge  in  Staffordshire 
"  Will,"  said  the  colonel  to  him  at  starting,  "  thou  must  give 
my  sister  thy  hand  to  help  her  to  mount : "  but  the  King, 
unused  to  such  offices,  gave  her  the  wrong  hand.  "  What 
a  goodly  horseman  my  daughter  has  got  to  ride  before 
her,"  said  old  Mrs.  Lane,  the  colonel's  mother,  who  was 
watching  their  departure,  though  unacquainted  with  the 
secret.  They  set  off,  but  they  had  scarcely  ridden  two 
hours,  when  the  King's  horse  cast  a  shoe,  and  they  halted 
at  a  little  village  to  get  another  shoe.  "As  I  was 
holding  the  horse's  foot,"  says  the  King  in  his  narrative  of 
his  escape,  "  I  asked  the  smith  what  news.  He  told  me 
that  there  was  no  news  that  he  knew  of,  since  the  good  news 
of  the  beating  of  those  rogues,  the  Scots.  I  asked  him 
whether  there  were  none  of  the  English  taken  that  had 
joined  with  the  Scots.  He  answered  that  some  of  them 
were  taken,  but  he  did  not  hear  that  that  rogue,  Charles 
Stuart,  had  been  taken  yet.  I  told  him  that,  if  that  rogue 
were  taken,  he  deserved  to  be  hanged  more  than  all  the 
rest,  for  bringing  in  the  Scots.  Upon  which  he  said  that  I 
spoke  like  an  honest  man ;  and  so  we  parted." 

On  the  13th  of  September  he  reached  Abbotsleigh,  near 
Bristol,  the  residence  of  Mr.  Norton,  a  cousin  of  Colonel 
Lane.  He  there  learned,  to  his  great  sorrow,  that  there 
was  not  in  the  port  of  Bristol  any  vessel  on  board  which  he 
could  embark  ;  and  he  was  obliged  to  remain  in  the  house 
four  days.  Under  pretence  of  indisposition,  he  was 
indulged  in  a  separate  chamber,  and  by  Miss  Lane's 
request,  particular  care  was  taken  of  him.  He  was  really 
much  harassed  and  fatigued,  though  but  little  inclined  to 
endure  patiently  either  hunger  or  ennui.  On  the  morning 
after  his  arrival,  he  rose  early,  and  went  to  the  buttery-hatch 
to  get  his  breakfast,  where  he  found  Pope,  the  butler,  and 
two  or  three  other  servants  ;  "  and,"  he  says,  "  we  all  fell  to 


ESCAPE  OF  CHARLES  THE  SECOND.  139 

eating  bread  and  butter,  to  which  Pope  gave  us  very  good 
ale  and  sack.  As  I  was  sitting  there,  there  was  one  that 
looked  like  a  country  fellow  sat  just  by  me,  who  gave  so 
particular  an  account  of  the  battle  of  Worcester  to  the 
rest  of  the  company,  that  I  concluded  he  must  be 
one  of  Cromwell's  soldiers.  But  I  asking  him  how  he 
came  to  give  so  good  an  account  of  that  battle  ;  he  told  me 
he  was  in  the  King's  regiment ;  and  on  questioning  him 
further,  I  perceived  that  he  had  been  in  my  regiment  of 
guards.  I  asked  him  what  kind  of  a  man  I  was?  To  which 
he  answered  by  describing  exactly  both  my  clothes  and  my 
horse  ;  and  then  looking  upon  me,  he  told  me  that  the  King 
was  at  least  three  fingers  taller  than  I.  Upon  which  I  made 
what  haste  I  could  out  of  the  buttery,  for  fear  he  should 
indeed  know  me ;  being  more  afraid  when  I  knew  he  was 
one  of  our  own  soldiers,  than  when  I  took  him  for  one  of 
the  enemy's." 

Charles  had  no  sooner  returned  to  his  room,  than  one  of 
his  companions  came  to  him  in  great  agitation,  and  said  : 
"What  shall  we  do?  I  am  afraid  Pope  the  butler  knows 
you,  for  he  says  very  positively  to  me  that  it  is  you,  but  I 
have  denied  it."  Charles  h=\d  already  learned  that,  in 
positions  of  danger,  bold  confidence  is  often  no  less  a 
source  of  safety  than  a  necessity  ;  he  sent  for  the  butler, 
told  him  all,  and  received  from  him,  during  his  stay  at  Mr. 
Norton's  house,  the  most  intelligent  and  most  devoted 
care. 

But  attentions,  even  when  shown  most  discreetly,  some- 
times prove  most  compromising ;  at  the  end  of  four  days 
Charles  had  to  seek  a  new  asylum  :  and  on  the  14th  of 
September,  he  left  Abbotsieigh  for  Trent  House,  in  the 
same  county,  the  residence  of  Colonel  Wyndham,  a  staunch 
Royalist.  In  1636,  six  years  before  the  outbreak  of  the 
war   between  Charles   I.  and  his    Parliament,   Sir  Thomas 


140     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Wyndham,  the  Colonel's  father,  when  on  the  point  of  death, 
had  said  to  his  five  sons — "  My  sons,  we  have  hitherto  seen 
serene  and  quiet  times,  but  now  prepare  yourselves  for 
cloudy  and  troublesome.  I  command  you  to  honour  and 
obey  our  gracious  sovereign,  and  in  all  times  to  adhere  to 
the  crown ;  and  though  the  crown  should  hang  upon  a  bush, 
I  charge  you  forsake  it  not."  The  injunctions  of  the  dying 
man  were  obeyed ;  three  of  his  sons  and  one  of  his 
grandsons  fell  on  the  battle-field,  fighting  for  Charles  I. ; 
and  Colonel  Wyndham,  who  had  also  served  with  honour 
in  the  royal  army,  was,  in  165 1,  a  prisoner  on  parole  in  his 
own  house.  He  received  the  King  with  the  utmost  devoted- 
ness,  and  set  to  work  immediately  to  obtain  some  means  of 
embarkation  for  him  in  one  of  the  neighbouring  ports. 

[For  some  time,  however,  these  efforts  were  fruitless, 
and  so  close  a  watch  was  kept  that  Charles  was  forced 
to  leave  the  Dorset  coast  in  despair,  and  return  to  Colonel 
Wyndham's.] 

Charles  remained  for  eleven  days  at  Trent  House,  still 
seeking,  but  in  vain,  the  means  of  transport  to  France.  It 
then  became  necessary  for  him  once  more  to  change  his 
residence.  Colonel  Wyndham  was  informed  that  his  house 
was  becoming  more  and  more  suspected  ;  and  ere  long, 
troops  arrived  in  the  neighbourhood.  On  the  6th  of 
October,  the  King  left  Trent  House  to  take  refuge  at  Hele 
House,  the  residence  of  Mr.  Hyde  in  Wiltshire  ;  where  he 
would  be  nearer  the  small  sea-ports  of  Sussex,  at  one  of 
which  his  friends  hoped  to  be  able  to  procure  him  a  vessel. 
They  at  last  succeeded  in  obtaining  one,  and  on  the 
morning  of  the  13th  of  October,  Charles  left  his  last 
hiding-place,  escorted  by  a  few  faithful  friends,  who  had 
brought  their  dogs,  as  if  for  a  coursing  expedition  on  the 
downs.  They  slept  at  Hambledon,  in  Hampshire,  at  the 
house  of  a   brother-in-law   of  Colonel   Gunter,  one  of   the 


ESCAPE  OF  CHARLES  THE  SECOND.  141 

King's  guides  :  and  the  master  of  the  house,  on  his  return 
home,    was    a>tonished    to    find    his    table    surrounded   by 
unknown  guests,  whose    gaiety    exceeded    the    bounds    of 
"decent   hilarity."      The    King's    cropped    hair,    and    the 
reproof  which  he  administered  to  the  honest  squire   for  a 
casual  oath,  redoubled  his   surprise ;  he  bent  towards  his 
brother-in-law,  and  asked  if  that   fellow  were  not  "  some- 
round-headed  rogue's  son."     The  colonel  assured  him  that 
his  suspicions  were  unfounded,  upon  which  he  sat  down  at 
table  with   his  guests,  and  gaily   drank  the  King's  health 
"  in  a  good  glass  of  beer,  calling  him  brother  Roundhead." 
On  the  following  day,  the  14th  of  October,  they  proceeded 
to  Erighthelmstone,1  where  they  were  to  meet  the  master  of 
the  promised  vessel,  and  the  merchant  who  had  engaged  it  for 
them.     They  all  supped  together  at  the  village  inn  ;  during 
the   meal,  the  captain,   Anthony  Tattersall,  scarcely  once 
took  his  eyes  off  the  King ;  and  after  supper  he  took  the 
merchant  aside  and  told  him  "  that  he  had  not  dealt  fairly 
with  him  ;  for  though  he  had  given  him  a  very  good  price  for 
carrying  over  that  gentleman,  yet  he  had  not  been   clear 
with  him  ; — for,"  said  he,  "  he  is  the  King,  and  I  very  well 
know  him  to  be  so."     The  merchant  assured  him  that  he 
was  mistaken,  but  he  answered  :  "  No,  I  am  not ;  for  he 
took  my  ship,  together  with  other  fishing  vessels  at  Bright- 
helmstone,   in  the  year    1648,    when    he    commanded    his 
father's  fleet ;  but  be  not  troubled  at  it,  for  I  think  I  do  God 
and  my  country  good  service  in  preserving  the  King,  and 
by  the  grace  of  God,  I  will  venture  my  life  and  all  for  him, 
and  set  him  safely  on  shore,  if  I  can,  in  France."     At  about 
the  same  time,  at  another  part  of  the  room,  the  innkeeper 
came  up  to  the  King,  who  was  standing  by  the  fire,  with 
his  hand  resting  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  and  kissed  his  hand 
suddenly.     "  God  bless  you  wheresoever  you  go  !  "  he  said  ; 
1  Then  a  little  fishing  village^  now  the  large  town  of  Brigh ton. 


I  J2      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

"  I  do  not  doubt,  before  I  die,  to  be  a  lord,  and  my  wife  a 
lady."     Charles    laughed,    and    went   into   another    room, 
putting  full   trust   in   his  host  ;  and  at   five  o'clock  on  the 
morning  of   the   15th    of    October,    the    King   and    Lord 
Wilmot  were  on  board  a  little  vessel  of  sixty  tons,  which 
only  waited  for  the   tide  to  leave  Shoreham  harbour.     As 
soon  as  they  were  at  sea,  Captain  Tattersall  came  into  the 
cabin  where  the  King  was  lying,  fell  on  his  knees,  kissed 
his  hand,  and  protesting  his  entire  devotedness,  suggested 
that,   in  order  to   prevent  all  difficulty,  he  should  himself 
persuade  the  crew,  who  imagined  that  they  had  embarked 
for  the  English  port  of  Poole,  to  sail  towards  the  coast  of 
France,  by  representing  himself  to  them  as  a  merchant  in 
debt,   who  was  afraid   of  being  arrested   in   England,  and 
wished  to   recover  some  money  that  was  owing  to  him  at 
Rouen.     Charles   willingly  acceded  to  this  proposition,  and 
tried   to  ingratiate  himself  so   thoroughly  with  the  sailors, 
that  they  joined  him  in  requesting  the  captain  to  turn  aside 
from  his  course  in  favour  of  his  passengers.     The  weather 
was  fine  and  the  wind  favourable,  and  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  16th  of  October,  the  ship's  boat  landed  the 
King  and  Lord  Wilmot  in  the  little  port  of  Fe'camp. 


XXVIII. 

DRIVING  OUT  OF  LONG  PARLIAMENT. 

GUIZOT. 

No  sooner  was  all  danger  from  without  over  than  the 
victors  quarrelled  among  themselves.  The  Parliament 
wished  to  break  up  ihe  army,  and  the  army  in  return  re- 
solved to  drive  out  the  Parliament  if  it  did  not  consent  to 
dissolve  itself,  and  enable  a  fresh  House  of  Commons  to 


I'KIVING  OUT  OF  LONC   PARLIAMENT.  Ml 

be  chosen.  Quarrels,  however,  arose  over  the  bill  intro- 
duced for  this  purpose,  and  Cromwell  forcibly  carried  out 
the  army's  threat.] 

The  House  was  on  the  point  of  coming  to  a  vote  ;  Vane  ' 
had  insisted  with  such  warmth  and  earnestness  on  passing 
the  bill,  that  Harrison  -  had  deemed  it  necessary  "  most 
sweetly  and  humbly "  to  conjure  his  colleagues  to  pause 
before  they  took  so  important  a  step.  Cromwell  left 
Whitehall  in  haste,  followed  by  Lambert  and  five  or  six 
officers  ;  and  commanded  a  detachment  of  soldiers  to 
march  round  to  the  House  of  Commons.  On  his  arrival  at 
Westminster,  he  stationed  guards  at  the  doors  and  in  the 
lobby  of  the  House,  and  led  round  another  body  to  a 
position  just  outside  the  room  in  which  the  members  were 
seated.  He  then  entered  alone,  without  noise,  "  clad  in 
plain  black  clothes,  with  grey  worsted  stockings/'  as  was  his 
custom  when  he  was  not  in  uniform.  Vane  was  speaking, 
and  passionately  descanting  on  the  urgency  of  the  bill. 
Cromwell  sat  down  in  his  usual  place,  where  he  was 
instantly  joined  by  St.  John,3  to  whom  he  said,  "  that  he  was 
come  to  do  that  which  grieved  him  to  the  very  soul,  and 
that  he  had  earnestly  with  tears  prayed  to  God  against. 
Nay,  that  he  had  rather  be  torn  in  pieces  than  do  it ;  but 
there  was  a  necessity  laid  upon  him  therein,  in  order  to  the 
glory  of  God,  and  the  good  of  the  nation."  St.  John 
answered,  "  that  he  knew  not  what  he  meant ;  but  did  pray 
that  what  it  was  which  must  be  done,  might  have  a  happy 
issue  for  the  general  good  ; "  and  so  saying,  he  returned  to 
his  seat. 

Vane  was  still  speaking,  and  Cromwell  listened  to  him 
with   great   attention.      He    was  arguing    the   necessity    of 

1  Sir  Harry  Vane,  a  leading  statesman  of  tJie  Long  Parlia- 
ment. 2  General  Harrison.  3  Oliver  St.  John,  who 
liad  taken  a  leading  part  in  the  Parliament. 


144      PROSE  READINGS  KROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

proceeding  at  once  to  the  last  stage  of  the  bill,  and  with 
that  view,  adjured  the  House  to  dispense  with  the  usual 
formalities  which  should  precede  its  adoption.  Cromwell, 
at  this,  beckoned  to  Harrison.  "  Now  is  the  time,"  he  said  ; 
"  I  must  do  it !  "  "  Sir,"  replied  Harrison,  anxiously,  "  the 
work  is  very  great  and  dangerous."  "You  say  well,"  an- 
swered Cromwell,  and  sat  still  for  another  quarter  of  an 
hour.  Vane  ceased  speaking  ;  the  Speaker  rose  to  put  the 
question,  when  Cromwell  stood  up,  took  off  his  hat,  and 
began  to  speak.  At  first  he  expressed  himself  in  terms  of 
commendation  of  the  Parliament,  and  its  members,  praising 
their  zeal  and  care  for  the  public  good  ;  but  gradually  his 
tone  changed,  his  accents  and  gestures  became  more 
violent ;  he  reproached  the  members  of  the  House  with 
their  delays,  their  covetousness,  their  self-interest,  their 
disregard  for  justice.  "  You  have  no  heart  to  do  anything 
for  the  public  good,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  your  intention  was  to 
perpetuate  yourselves  in  power.  But  your  time  is  come  ! 
The  Lord  has  done  with  you  !  He  has  chosen  other 
instruments  for  the  carrying  on  His  work,  that  are  more 
worthy.  It  is  the  Lord  hath  taken  me  by  the  hand,  and  set 
me  on  to  do  this  thing."  Vane,  Wentworth,  and  Martyn  4 
rose  to  reply  to  him,  but  he  would  not  suffer  them  to  speak. 
"You  think,  perhaps,"  he  said,  "that  this  is  not  parlia- 
mentary language ;  I  know  it ;  but  expect  no  other  language 
from  me."  Wentworth  at  length  made  himself  heard  ;  he 
declared  that  this  "  was  indeed  the  first  time  that  he  had 
ever  heard  such  unbecoming  language  given  to  the  Parlia- 
ment ;  and  that  it  was  the  more  horrid,  in  that  it  came 
from  their  servant,  and  their  servant  whom  they  had  so 
highly  trusted  and  obliged,  and  whom,  by  their  unpre- 
cedented bounty,  they  had  made  what  he  was."  Cromwell 
thrust  his  hat  upon  his  head,  sprang  frain  his  seat  into  the 
*   Henry  Martyn,  otie  of  the  judges  of  the  King. 


DRIVING  OUT  OF  LONG  PARLIAMENT.  M5 

ccntie  of  the  floor  of  the  House,  and  shouted  out,  "  Come, 
come,  we  have  had  enough  of  this  ;  I'll  put  an  end  to  your 
prating— Call  them  in  !  "  he  added  briefly  to  Harrison  ;  the 
door  opened,  and  twenty  or  thirty  musketeers  entered, 
under  the  command  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  Worsley. 

"  You  are  no  Parliament,"  cried  Cromwell;  "I  say, 
you  are  no  Parliament  !  Begone  !  Give  way  to  honester 
men.''  He  walked  up  and  down  the  floor  of  the  House, 
stamping  his  foot,  and  giving  his  orders.  "  Fetch  him 
down,"  he  said  to  Harrison,  pointing  to  the  Speaker,  who 
still  remained  in  his  chair.  Harrison  told  him  to  come 
down,  but  Lenthall  refused.  "  Take  him  down,"  repeated 
Cromwell ;  Harrison  laid  his  hand  on  the  Speaker's  gown, 
and  he  came  down  immediately.  Algernon  Sidney 5  was 
sitting  near  the  Speaker.  "  Put  him  out,"  said  Cromwell  to 
Harrison.  Sidney  did  not  move.  "  Put  him  out,"  reiter- 
ated Cromwell.  Harrison  and  Worsley  laid  their  hands  on 
Sidney's  shoulders,  upon  which  he  rose  and  walked  out. 
"  This  is  not  honest,"  exclaimed  Vane  ;  "  it  is  against 
morality  and  common  honesty!"  "Sir  Harry  "Vane  !  Sir 
Harry  Vane!"  replied  Cromwell;  "you  might  have 
prevented  this  extraordinary  course;  but  you  are  a  juggler, 
and  have  not  so  much  as  common  honesty.  The  Lord 
deliver  me  from  Sir  Harry  Vane  ! "  And,  amidst  the 
general  confusion  as  the  members  passed  out  before  him, 
he  flung  nicknames  in  the  face  of  each.  "  Some  of  you  are 
drunkards  !"  he  said,  pointing  to  Mr.  Challoner;  "  some  of 
you  are  adulterers  !  "  and  he  looked  at  Sir  Peter  Wentworth  ; 
"  some  of  you  are  corrupt  unjust  persor  s  !  "  and  he  glanced 
at  Whitelocke  and  others. 

He  went  up  to  the  table  on  which  the  mace  lay,   which 
was  earned  before  the  Speaker,  and  called  to  the  soldiers, 
"  What  shall  we  do  with  this  bauble  ?  here,  take  it  away.'; 
5  Afterwards  put  to  death  under  Charles  the.  Second. 


146      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

He  frequently  repeated  :  "  It  is  you  that  have  forced  me  to 
this,  for  I  have  sought  the  Lord  night  and  day,  that  He 
Id  rather  slay  me  than  put  me  upon  the  doing  of  this 
work."  Alderman  Allen  told  him,  "  That  it  was  not  yet 
gone  so  far,  but  all  things  might  be  restored  again  ;  and 
that  if  the  soldiers  were  commanded  out  of  the  House,  and 
the  mace  returned,  the  public  affairs  might  go  on  in  their 
course."  Cromwell  rejected  this  advice,  and  called  Allen 
to  account  for  some  hundred  thousand  pounds  which  as 
Treasurer  of  the  army,  he  had  embezzled.  Allen  replied, 
"  That  it  was  well  known  that  it  had  not  been  his  fault  that 
his  account  was  not  made  up  long  since  ;  that  he  had  often 
tendered  it  to  the  House,  and  that  he  asked  no  favour  from 
any  man  in  that  matter."  Cromwell  ordered  him  to  be 
arrested,  and  he  was  led  off  by  the  soldiers.  The  room 
was  now  empty ;  he  seized  all  the  papers,  took  the 
Dissolution-Bill  from  the  Clerk,  and  put  it  under  his  cloak  : 
after  which  he  left  the  House,  ordered  the  doors  to  be  shut, 
and  returned  to  Whitehall. 

At  Whitehall,  he  found  several  of  his  officers,  who  had 
remained  there  to  wait  the  event.  He  related  to  them  what 
he  had  done  at  the  House.  "  WThen  I  went  there,"  he 
said,  "  I  did  not  think  to  have  done  this.  But,  perceiving 
the  Spirit  of  God  so  strong  upon  me,  I  would  not  consult 
flesh  and  blood."  A  few  hours  later,  in  the  afternoon,  he 
was  informed  that  the  Council  of  State  had  just  assembled 
in  its  ordinary  place  of  meeting,  in  Whitehall  itself,  undei 
the  presidency  of  Bradshaw.  He  went  to  them  immediately, 
followed  only  by  Harrison  and  Lambert.  "  Gentlemen," 
he  said,  "  if  you  are  met  here  as  private  persons,  you  shall 
not  be  disturbed ;  but  if  as  a  Council  of  State,  this  is  no 
place  for  you ;  and  since  you  can't  but  know  what  was  done 
at  the  House  this  morning,  so  take  notice  that  the  Parlia- 
ment is  dissolved."     "Sir,"  answered   Bradshaw,  "we  have 


DEATH  OF  CROMWELL.  1.47 

beard  what  you  did  at  the  House  in  the  morning,  and  hefore 
many  hours  all  England  will  hear  it.  But,  Sir,  you  are 
mistaken  to  think  that  the  Parliament  is  dissolved  ;  for  no 
power  under  heaven  can  dissolve  them  but  themselves. 
Therefore  take  you  notice  of  that."  All  then  rose  and  left 
the  room.  On  the  following  day,  the  21st  of  April,  this  an- 
nouncement appeared  in  the  Mercurius  Politicus*  which 
had  become  Cromwell's  journal:  "The  Lord-General  de- 
livered yesterday  in  Parliament  divers  reasons  wherefore 
a  present  period  should  be  put  to  the  sitting  of  this  Parlia- 
ment, and  it  was  accordingly  done,  the  Speaker  and  the 
members  all  departing.  The  grounds  of  which  proceedings 
will,  it  is  probable,  be  shortly  made  public."  And,  on  the 
same  day,  a  crowd  collected  at  the  door  of  the  House  to 
read  a  large  placard  which  had  probably  been  placed  there 
during  the  night  by  some  Cavalier  who  was  overjoyed  at 
finding  his  cause  avenged  on  the  republicans  by  a  regicide  ; 7 
it  bore  this  inscription  : 

"This  House  to  be  let  unfurnished." 


XXIX. 

DEATH  OF  CROMWELL. 

GUIZOT. 

[After  the  expulsion  of  the  Commons,  England  really  lay  in 
the  power  of  the  army  :  and  its  general,  Oliver  Cromwell, 
became  ruler  of  the  country  with  the  title  of  Lord 
Protector.  Cromwell  was  a  man  of  great  genius ;  and 
he  made  the  name  of  England  feared  abroad  by  great 
victories,  both  on  land  and  sea.  But  at  home  he  failed 
to  reconcile  the  nation  to  what  was  after  all  but  a  military 

fi  One  of  the  earliest  English  newspapers.  7  The  judges 

on  the  King's  trial  were  called  by  the  royalists  regicides. 


i43      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORi'. 

rule  ;  and  the  Parliament  he  summoned  demanded  the 
restoration  of  the  old  liberties  of  England.  It  was  to 
bring  back  the  constitution  and  restore  the  rule  of  law  that 
the  Commons  at  last  offered  Cromwell  the  title  of  King. 
But  he  was  forced  by  the  army  to  refuse  it ;  and  soon  after 
a  fever  brought  him  to  the  grave.] 


It  was  no  mere  pedantry,  still  less  was  it  vulgar  flattery, 
which  influenced  the  Parliament  in  their  offer  to  Cromwell 
of  the  title  of  King.  The  experience  of  the  last  few  years 
had  taught  the  nation  the  value  of  the  traditional  forms  un- 
der which  its  liberties  had  grown  up.  A  king  was  limited  by 
constitutional  precedents.  "  The  king's  prerogative,"  it  was 
well  urged,  "  is  under  the  courts  of  justice,  and  is  bounded 
as  well  as  any  acre  of  land,  or  anything  a  man  hath."  A 
Protector,  on  the  other  hand,  was  new  in  our  history  and 
there  were  no  traditional  means  of  limiting  his  power.  "The 
one  office  being  lawful  in  its  nature,"  said  Glynne,1  "  known 
to  the  nation,  certain  in  itself,  and  confined  and  regulated 
by  the  law,  and  the  other  not  so — that  was  the  great  ground 
why  the  Parliament  did  so  much  insist  on  this  office  and 
title."  Under  the  name  of  monarchy  indeed  the  question 
really  at  issue  between  the  party  headed  by  the  officers 
and  the  party  led  by  the  lawyers  in  the  Commons  was  that 
of  the  restoration  of  constitutional  and  legal  rule.  The 
proposal  was  carried  by  an  overwhelming  majority,  but  a 
month  passed  in  endless  consultations  between  the  Parlia- 
ment and  the  Protector.  His  good  sense,  his  knowledge  of 
the  general  feeling  of  the  nation,  his  real  desire  to  obtain  a 
settlement  which  should  secure  the  ends  for  which  Puritan 
ism  had  fought,  political  and  religious  liberty,  broke,  in  con- 
ference after  conference,  through  a  mist  of  words.  But  his 
real  concern  throughout  was  with  the  temper  of  the  army. 
To  Cromwell  his  soldiers  were  no  common  swordsmen. 
1  Glynne  was  otu  nf  the  leaders  in  the  Parliament. 


DEATH  OF  CROMWELL.  149 

They  were  "godly  men,  men  that  will  not  be  beaten  down  by 
a  worldly  and  carnal  spirit  while  they  keep  their  integrity," 
men  in  whose  general  voice  he  recognized  the  voice  of  God. 
"  They  are  honest  and  faithful  men,"  he  urged,  "  true  to  the 
great  things  of  the  Government.  And  though  it  is  really  no 
part  of  their  goodness  to  be  unwilling  to  submit  to  what  a 
Parliament  shall  settle  over  them,  yet  it  is  my  duty  and  con- 
science to  beg  of  you  that  there  may  be  no  hard  things 
put  upon  them  which  they  cannot  swallow.  I  cannot  think 
God  would  bless  an  undertaking  of  anything  which  would 
justly  and  with  cause  grieve  them."  The  temper  of  the 
army  was  soon  shown.  Its  leaders  with  Lambert,  Fleetwood, 
and  Desborough2  at  their  head,  placed  their  commands  in 
Cromwell's  hands.  A  petition  from  the  officers  to  Parlia- 
ment demanded  the  withdrawal  of  the  proposal  to  restore 
the  monarchy,  "  in  the  name  of  the  old  caUse  for  which 
they  had  bled."  Cromwell  at  once  anticipated  the  coming 
debate  on  this  petition,  a  debate  which  might  have  led 
to  an  open  breach  between  the  army  and  the  Commons, 
by  a  refusal  of  the  crown.  "  I  cannot  undertake  this 
government,"  he  said,  "  with  that  title  of  king ;  and  that  is 
my  answer  to  this  great  and  weighty  business." 

Disappointed  as  it  was,  the  Parliament  with  singular  self- 
restraint  turned  to  other  modes  of  bringing  about  its 
purpose.  The  offer  of  the  crown  had  been  coupled  with 
the  condition  of  accepting  a  Constitution,  which  was  a 
modification  of  the  Instrument  of  Government3  adopted 
by  the  Parliament  of  1654,  and  this  Constitution  Cromwell 
emphatically  approved.  "  The  things  provided  by  this  Act 
of  Government,"  he  owned,  "  do  secure  the  liberties  of  the 
people  of  God  as  they  never  before  have  had  them."  With 
a  change  of  the  title  of  king  into  that  of  Protector,  the  Act 

2  The  leading  generals  in  the  army,  after  Cromwell. 

3  A  plan  originally  drawn  up  by  the  officers  of  the  army  for 
(he  new  rule  after  the  king's  death. 

14 


150      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY 

of  Government  became  law  :  and  the  solemn  inauguration 
of  the  Protector  by  the  Parliament  was  a  practical  acknow- 
ledgement on  the  part  of  Cromwell  of  the  illegality  of  his 
former  rule.  In  the  name  of  the  Commons  the  Speaker 
invested  him  with  a  mantle  of  state,  placed  the  sceptre  in  his 
hand,  and  girt  the  sword  of  justice  by  his  side.  By  the  new 
Act  of  Government  Cromwell  was  allowed  to  name  his  own 
successor,  but  in  all  after  cases  the  office  was  to  be  an 
elective  one.  In  every  other  respect  the  forms  of  the  older 
Constitution  were  carefully  restored.  Parliament  was  again 
to  consist  of  two  Houses,  the  seventy  members  of  the  other 
House  being  named  by  the  Protector.  The  Commons 
regained  their  old  right  of  exclusively  deciding  on  the  quali- 
fication of  their  members.  Parliamentary  restrictions  were 
imposed  on  the  choice  of  members  of  the  Council,  and 
officers  of  the  state  or  of  the  army.  A  fixed  revenue  was 
voted  to  the  Protector,  and  it  was  provided  that  no  moneys 
should  be  raised  but  by  assent  of  Parliament.  Liberty  of 
worship  was  secured  for  all  but  Papists,  Prelatists,4  Socinians 
or  those  who  denied  the  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures,  and 
liberty  of  conscience  was  secured  to  all. 

The  excluded  members  were  again  admitted  when  the 
Parliament  reassembled  after  an  adjournment  of  six  months  ; 
and  the  hasty  act  of  Cromwell  in  giving  his  nominees  in 
"  the  other  House  "  the  title  of  Lords  kindled  a  quarrel 
which  was  busily  fanned  by  Haselrig.5  But  while  the 
Houses  were  busy  with  their  squabble  the  hand  of  death 
was  falling  on  the  Protector.  He  had  long  been  weary 
of  his  task.  "  God  knows,"  he  burst  out  a  little  time 
before  to  the  Parliament,  "  I  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
lived  under  my  woodside,  and  to  have  kept  a  flock  of  sheep, 
rather  than  to  have  undertaken  this  government."  And 
now  to  the  weariness   of  power  was  added  the  weakness 

4  Episcopalians  of  the  Church  of  England,  believed  to  be  dis- 
affected to  the  new  government.  6  A  leading  republican. 


DEATH  OF  CROMWELL.  151 

and   feverish   impatience  of  disease.     Vigorous  and    ener- 
getic as  his  life  had  seemed,  his   health  was  by  no  means 
as  strong  as   his  will  ;  he   had  been  struck  down   by  inter- 
mittent fever  in  the  midst  of  his  triumphs  both  in  Scotl 
and  in  Ireland,  and  during  the  past  year  he  had  suffered 
from   repeated   attacks    of   it.     "  I    have    some   infirmities 
upon   me,"   he   owned  twice   over   in   his   speech   at   the 
opening  of  the  Parliament ;  and  his  feverish  irritability  was 
quickened  by  the  public  danger.     No  supplies  had  been 
voted,  and  the  pay  of  the  army  was  heavily  in  arrear,  while 
its  temper  grew  more  and  more  sullen  at  the  appearance  of 
the  new  Constitution  and  the  reawakening  of  the  Royalist 
intrigues.      The    continuance    of   the    Parliamentary   strife 
threw   Cromwell   at   last,  says    an   observer   at    his    court, 
"  into  a  rage  and  passion  like  unto  madness."     Summon- 
ing his  coach,  by  a  sudden  impulse,  the  Protector  drove 
with  a  few  guards  to   Westminster ;  and,  setting  aside  the 
remonstrances  of  Fleetwood,  summoned  the  two   Houses 
to  his   presence.      "  I   do    dissolve   this   Parliament,"    he 
ended  a  speech  of  angry  rebuke,  "  and  let  God  be  judge 
between  you  and  me." 

Fatal  as  was  the  error,  for  the  moment  all  went  well. 
The  army  was  reconciled  by  the  blow  levelled  at  its  oppo- 
nents, and  the  few  murmurers  were  weeded  from  its  ranks 
by  a  careful  remodelling.  The  triumphant  officers  vowed  to 
stand  or  fall  with  his  Highness.  The  danger  of  a  Royalist 
rising  vanished  before  a  host  of  addresses  from  the  counties. 
Great  news  too  came  from  abroad,  where  victory  in  Flanders, 
and  the  cession  of  Dunkirk,  set  the  seal  on  Cromwell's 
glory.  But  the  fever  crept  steadily  on,  and  his  looks  told 
the  tale  of  death  to  the  Quaker,  Fox,6  who  met  him  riding 
in  Hampton  Court  Park.  "  Before  I  came  to  him,"  he  says, 
"  as  he  rode  at  the  head  of  his  Life  Guards,  I  saw  and  felt 
a  waft  of  death  go  forth  against  him,  and  when  I  came  to 
6  George  Fox,  the  founder  of  the  sect  of  Quakers. 


152      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

him  he  looked  like  a  dead  man."  In  the  midst  of  his 
triumph  Cromwell's  heart  was  in  fact  heavy  with  the  sense 
of  failure.  He  had  no  desire  to  play  the  tyrant ;  nor  had 
he  any  belief  in  the  permanence  of  a  mere  tyranny.  He 
had  hardly  dissolved  the  Parliament  before  he  was  planning 
he  summons  of  another,  and  angry  at  the  opposition  which 
,is  Council  offered  to  the  project.  "  I  will  take  my  own 
esolutions,"  he  said  gloomily  to  his  household  ;  "  I  can  no 
onger  satisfy  myself  to  sit  still,  and  make  myself  guilty  of 
the  loss  of  all  the  honest  party  and  of  the  nation  itself."  But 
before  his  plans  could  be  realized  the  overtaxed  strength  of 
the  Protector  suddenly  gave  way.  He  saw  too  clearly  the 
chaos  into  which  his  death  would  plunge  England  to  be 
willing  to  die.  "  Do  not  think  I  shall  die,"  he  burst  out 
with  feverish  energy  to  the  physicians  who  gathered  round 
him;  "say  not  I  have  lost  my  reason!  I  tell  you  the 
truth.  I  know  it  from  better  authority  than  any  you  can 
have  from  Galen  or  Hippocrates.  It  is  the  answer  of  God 
Himself  to  our  prayers  ! ''  Prayer  indeed  rose  from  every 
side  for  his  recovery,  but  death  drew  steadily  nearer,  till 
even  Cromwell  felt  that  his  hour  was  come.  "  I  would  be 
willing  to  live,"  the  dying  man  murmured,  "  to  be  further 
serviceable  to  God  and  His  people,  but  my  work  is  done ! 
Yet  God  will  be  with  His  people  !  "  A  storm  which  tore 
roofs  from  houses,  and  levelled  huge  trees  in  every  forest, 
seemed  a  fitting  prelude  to  the  passing  away  of  his  mighty 
spirit.  Three  days  later,  on  the  third  of  September,  the 
day  which  had  witnessed  his  victories  of  Worcester  and 
Dunbar,  Cromwell  quietly  breathed  his  last. 


END   OF    PART   II, 


READINGS   FROM    ENGLISH    HISTORY. 
PART   III. 

FROM   CROMWELL   TO   BALACLAVA- 


PROSE    READINGS 
FROM    ENGLISH    HISTORY. 

PART  III. 
I. 

THE  RESTORATION. 
MACAULAY. 

[The  death  of  Cromwell  brought  the  rule  of  Puritanism  to  an 
end.  '1'he  divisions  of  the  army  which  occupied  the 
three  realms  quarrelled  among  themselves  ;  and  the  na- 
tion took  advantage  of  their  strife  to  set  up  again  the  old 
system  of  government,  and  to  recall  Charles  the  Second 
to  the  throne.  No  political  change  was  ever  welcomed 
with  so  much  joy  as  this  restoration  of  the  monarchy,  for 
in  it  men  saw  the  restoration  of  law  and  the  overthrow  of 
a  rule  of  the  sword.] 

If  we  had  to  choose  a  lot  from  among  all  the  multitude 
of  those  which  men  have  drawn  since  the  beginning  of  the 
world,  we  would  select  that  of  Charles  the  Second  on  the 
day  of  his  return.  He  was  in  a  situation  in  which  the 
dictates  of  ambition  coincided  with  those  of  benevolence, 
in  which  it  was  easier  to  be  virtuous  than  to  be  wicked,  to 
be  loved  than  to  be  hated,  to  earn  pure  and  imperishable 
glory   than   to  become  infamous.     For  once    the    road   of 


a         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

goodness  was  a  smooth  descent.  He  had  done  nothing  to 
merit  the  affection  of  his  people.  But  they  had  paid  him 
in  advance  without  measure.  Elizabeth,  after  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  Armada,  or  after  the  abolition  of  monopolies,  had 
not  excited  a  thousandth  part  of  the  enthusiasm  with  which 
the  young  exile  was  welcomed  home.  He  was  not  like 
Lewis  the  Eighteenth,1  imposed  on  his  subjects  by  foreign 
conquerors;  nor  did  he,  like  Lewis  the  Eighteenth,  come 
back  to  a  country  which  had  undergone  a  complete  change. 
Happily  for  Charles,  no  European  state,  even  when  at  war 
with  the  Commonwealth,  had  chosen  to  bind  up  its  cause 
with  that  of  the  wanderers  who  were  playing  in  the  garrets 
of  Paris  and  Cologne  at  being  princes  and  chancellors.2 
Under  the  administration  of  Cromwell,  England  was  more 
respected  and  dreaded  than  any  power  in  Christendom, 
and  even  under  the  ephemeral  governments  which  followed 
his  death  no  foreign  state  ventured  to  treat  her  with  con 
tempt.  Thus  Charles  came  back,  not  as  a  mediator  between 
his  people  and  a  victorious  enemy,  bat  as  a  mediator  be- 
tween internal  factions.  He  found  the  Scotch  Covenanters 
and  the  Irish  Papists  alike  subdued.  He  found  Dunkirk 
and  Jamaica  added  to  the  empire.3  He  was  heir  to  the 
conquests  and  to  the  influence  of  the  able  usurper  who  had 
excluded  him. 

The  old  government  of  England,  as  it  had  been  far 
milder  than  the  old  government  of  France,  had  been  far  less 
violently  and  completely  subverted.  The  national  institu- 
tions had  been  spared  or  imperfectly  eradicated.  The  laws 
pad    undergone    little  alteration.     The  tenures  of  the  soil 

1  The  French  king  who  was  set  on  the  throne  after  the  over 
throw  of  Napoleon  by  the  European  powers.  2  During  his 

exile  Charles  had  called  himself  king,  appointed  ministers,  and 
the  lihe.  3  Jamaica  had  been  taken  by  an  English  fleet j 

Dunkirk  taken  as  the  price  of  the  aid  of  an  English  army  in 
the  war  of  France  against  Spain. 


•I'll!.  RESTORATION.  3 

were  still  to  be  learned  from  Littleton  and  Coke.4  The 
Great  Charter  was  mentioned  with  as  much  reverence  in 
the  Parliaments  of  the  Commonwealth  as  in  those  of  any 
earlier  or  of  any  later  age.  A  new  confession  of  faith  and 
a  new  ritual  had  been  introduced  into  the  Church.  But 
bulk  of  the  ecclesiastical  property  still  remained. 
colleges  still  held  their  estates.  The  parson  still  received 
his  tithes.  The  Lords  had,  at  a  crisis  of  great  excitement, 
been  excluded  by  military  violence  from  their  house  ;  but 
they  retained  their  titles  and  an  ample  share  of  the  public 
veneration.  When  a  nobleman  made  his  appearance  in  the 
House  of  Commons  he  was  received  with  ceremonious 
respect.  Those  few  peers  who  consented  to  assist  at  the 
inauguration  of  the  Protector  were  placed  next  to  himself, 
and  the  most  honourable  offices  of  the  day  were  assigned 
to  them.  We  learn  from  the  debates  in  Richard's  Parlia- 
ment how  strong  a  hold  the  old  aristocracy  had  on  the 
affections  of  the  people.  One  member  of  the  Mouse  of 
Commons  went  so  far  as  to  say  that,  unless  their  Lordships 
were  peaceably  restored,  the  country  might  soon  be  con- 
vulsed by  a  war  of  the  Barons. 

There  was  indeed  no  great  party  hostile  to  the  Upper 
House.  There  was  nothing  exclusive  in  the  constitution  of 
that  body.  It  was  regularly  recruited  from  among  the  most 
distinguished  of  the  country  gentlemen,  the  lawyers,  and  the 
clergy.  The  most  powerful  nobles  of  the  century  which 
preceded  the  civil  war,  the  Duke  of  Somerset,  the  Duke  of 
Northumberland,  Lord  Seymour  of  Sudely,  the  Karl  of 
Leicester.  Lord  Burleigh,  the  Earl  of  Salisbury,  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham,  the  Earl  of  Strafford  had  all  been  commoners, 
and  had  all  raised  themselves  by  courtly  arts  or  by  parlia- 
mentary talents,  not  merely  to  seats  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
but  to   the  first  influence  in  that  assembly.     Nor  had  the 

4  Comfiendiums  of  English  law  at  the  nine. 
14* 


4         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

general  conduct  of  the  Peers  been  such  as  to  make  them 
unpopular.  They  had  not,  indeed,  in  opposing  arbitrary 
measures  shown  so  much  eagerness  and  pertinacity  as  the 
Commons.  But  still  they  had  opposed  those  measures 
They  had,  at  the  beginning  of  the  discontents,  a  common 
interest  with  the  people.  If  Charles5  had  succeeded  in  his 
plan  of  governing  without  parliaments,  the  consequence  of  the 
Peers  would  have  been  grievously  diminished.  If  he  had  been 
able  to  raise  taxes  by  his  own  authority,  the  estates  of  the 
Peers  would  have  been  as  much  at  his  mercy  as  those  of  the 
merchants  or  of  the  farmers.  If  he  had  obtained  the  power 
of  imprisoning  his  subjects  at  his  pleasure,  a  Peer  ran  far 
greater  risk  of  incurring  the  royal  displeasure,  and  of  being 
accommodated  with  apartments  in  the  Tower,  than  any  city 
trader  or  country  squire.  Accordingly  Charles  found  that 
the  Great  Council  of  Peers  which  he  convoked  at  York 6 
would  do  nothing  for  him.  In  the  most  useful  reforms 
which  were  made  during  the  first  session  of  the  Long  Par- 
liament, the  Peers  concurred  heartily  with  the  Lower  House, 
and  a  large  and  powerful  minority  of  the  English  nobles 
stood  by  the  popular  side  through  the  first  years  of  the  war. 
At  Edgehill,  Newbury,  Marston,  and  Naseby,  the  armies  of 
the  Parliament  were  commanded  by  members  of  the  aristo- 
cracy. It  was  not  forgotten  that  a  Peer  had  imitated  the 
example  of  Hampden  in  refusing  the  payment  of  the  ship 
money,  or  that  a  Peer  had  been  among  the  six  members 
of  the  legislature  whom  Charles  illegally  impeached. 

Thus  the  old  constitution  of  England  was  without  diffi- 
culty re-established  ;  and  of  all  the  parts  of  the  old  constitu- 
tion, the  monarchical  part  was,  at  the  time,  dearest  to  the 
body  of  the  people.  It  had  been  injudiciously  depressed, 
and  it  was  in  consequence  unduly  exalted.     From  the  day 

5  Charles  the  First.  6  Before  the  summoning  again  oj 

his  Parliament. 


TIIK  RESTORATION.  5 

when  Charles  the  First  became  a  prisoner  had  commenced 

a  reaction  in  favour  of  his  person  and  of  his  office.  From 
the  day  when  the  axe  fell  on  his  neck  before  the  windows  of 
his  palace,  that  reaction  became  rapid  and  violent.  At  the 
Restoration  it  had  attained  such  a  point  that  it  could  go  no 
further.  The  people  were  ready  to  place  at  the  mercy  of 
their  sovereign  all  their  most  ancient  and  precious  rights. 
The  most  servile  doctrines  were  publicly  avowed.  The  most 
moderate  and  constitutional  opposition  was  condemned. 
Resistance  was  spoken  of  with  more  horror  than  any  crime 
which  a  human  being  can  commit.  The  Commons  were 
more  eager  than  the  King  himself  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of 
the  royal  house  :  more  desirous  than  the  bishops  themselves 
to  restore  the  Church  ;  more  ready  to  give  money  than  the 
ministers  to  ask  for  it.  They  abrogated  the  excellent  law 
passed  in  the  first  session  of  the  Long  Parliament,  with  the 
general  consent  of  all  honest  men,  to  ensure  the  frequent 
meeting  of  the  Great  Council  of  the  nation.  They  might 
probably  have  been  induced  to  go  further,  and  to  restore 
the  High  Commission  and  the  Star  Chamber.  All  the  con- 
temporary accounts  represent  the  nation  as  in  a  state  of 
hysterical  excitement,  of  drunken  joy.  In  the  immense 
multitude  which  crowded  the  beach  at  Dover,  and  bordend 
the  road  along  which  the  King  travelled  to  London,  there 
was  not  one  who  was  not  weeping.  Bonfires  blazed.  Bells 
jangled.  The  streets  were  thronged  at  night  by  boon-com- 
panions, who  forced  all  the  passers-by  to  swallow  on  bended 
knees  brimming  glasses  to  the  health  of  his  Most  Sacred 
Majesty,  and  the  damnation  of  Red-nosed  Noll.7  That 
tenderness  to  the  fallen  which  has  through  many  generations 
been  a  marked  feature  of  the  national  character,  was  for  a 
time  hardly  discernible.     Ail  London  crowded  to  shout  and 

7  Oliver  Cromwell. 


6  PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

laugh  round  the  gibbet s  ivhere  hung  the  rotting  remains  of 
a  prince  who  had  made  England  the  dread  of  all  the  world, 
who  had  been  the  chief  founder  of  her  maritime  greatness, 
and  of  her  colonial  empire,  who  had  conquered  Scotland 
and  Ireland,  who  had  humbled  Holland  and  Spain,  the 
terror  of  whose  name  had  been  as  a  guard  round  every  Eng- 
lish traveller  in  remote  countries,  and  round  every  Protes- 
tant congregation  in  the  heart  of  Catholic  empires.  When 
some  of  those  brave  and  honest,  though  misguided  men, 
who  had  sate  in  judgement  on  their  King  were  dragged  on 
hurdles  to  a  death  of  prolonged  torture,  their  last  prayers 
were  interrupted  by  the  hisses  and  execrations  of  thousands. 


II. 

CHARLES  THE  SECOND. 

GREEN. 

[All  the  moral  change  which  Puritanism  had  striven  to 
bring  about  disappeared  with  its  fall ;  and  piety  and 
right  conduct  were  trampled  under  foot  by  the  nobles 
and  courtiers  who  surrounded  the  new  king.  The  most 
dissolute  man  in  the  realm  was  Charles  the  Second  himself.] 

To  all  outer  seeming  Charles  was  the  most  consummate  of 
idlers.  "  He  delighted,"  says  one  of  his  courtiers,  "  in  a 
bewitching  kind  of  pleasure  called  sauntering."  The  busi- 
ness-like Pepys  1  soon  discovered  that  "  the  King  do  mind 
nothing  but  pleasure,  and  hates  the  very  sight  or  thoughts 

s  CromwelFs  body  was  tortt  from  its  grave  and  hanged  on  the 
gibbet  at  Tyburn.  l  An  official  whose  dza*y  tells  us  much 

of  the  time. 


CHARLES  THE  SECOND.  7 

of  business."     He  only  laughed  when  Tom  Killigrew  frankl) 
told  him  that  badly  as  things  were  going  there  was  one  man 
whose  employment  would  soon  set  them  right,  "and  this  is 
one  Charles  Stuart,  who  now  spends  his  time  in  employing 
his  lips  about  the  court,  and  hath   no   other  employment." 
That  Charles  had  great  natural  parts  no  one  doubted.      In 
his  earlier  days   of  defeat  and  danger  he  showed  a  cool 
courage  and  presence  of  mind  which  never  failed   him   in 
the  many  perilous  moments  of  his  reign.     His  temper  was 
pleasant  and  social  ;  his  manners  perfect,  and  there  was  a 
careless  freedom  and  courtesy  in  his  address  which  won  over 
everybody   who   came   into    his   presence.     His  education, 
indeed,  had  been  so  grossly  neglected  that  he  could  hardly 
read   a   plain   Latin   book;  but  his  natural  quickness  and 
intelligence  showed  itself  in  his  pursuit  of  chymistry  and 
anatomy,    and   in   the  interest  he  showed  in  the  scientific 
inquiries  of  the  Royal  Society.      Like  Peter  the  Great,  his 
favourite  study  was  that  of  naval  architecture,  and  he  piqued 
himself  on  being  a  clever  shipbuilder.     He  had  some  little 
love,  too,  for  art  and  poetry,  and  a  taste  for  music.     But  his 
shrewdness  and  vivacity  showed  itself  most  in  his  endless 
talk.      He  was  fond  of  telling  stories,  and  he  told  them  with 
a  good   deal   of  grace  and  humour.      His  humour,  indeed, 
never  forsook  him  ;  even  on  his  death-bed  he  turned  to  the 
weeping  courtiers  around  him  and  whispered  an  apology 
for  having  been  so  unconscionable  a  time  in  dying.      He 
held  his  own  fairly  with  the  wits  of  his  court,  and  bandied 
repartees  on  equal  terms  with  Sedley  or  Buckingham.     Even 
Rochester  in  his  merciless  epigram  was  forced  to  own  that 
"Charles  never  said  a  foolish  thing."     He  had  inherited  in 
fact  his   grandfather's  gift  of  pithy  sayings,   and  his  cynical 
irony  often  gave  an  amusing  turn  to  them.    When  his  brother, 
the  most  unpopular  man  in  England,2  solemnly  warned  him 
*  James,  Duke  of  York,  afterwards  Janus  the  Second. 


8  PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

of  plots  against  his  life,  Charles  laughingly  bid  him  set  ali 
fear  aside.  "  They  will  never  kill  me,  James,"  he  said,  "tc 
make  you  king." 

But  courage,  and  wit,  and  ability  seemed  to  have  been 
bestowed  on  him  in  vain.  Charles  hated  business.  He 
gave  no  sign  of  ambition.  The  one  thing  he  seemed  in 
earnest  about  was  sensual  pleasure,  and  he  took  his  plea- 
sure with  a  cynical  shamelessness  which  roused  the  disgust 
even  of  his  shameless  courtiers.  Mistress  followed  mistress, 
and  the  guilt  of  a  troop  of  profligate  women  was  blazoned 
to  the  world  by  the  gift  of  titles  and  estates.  The  royal 
bastards  were  set  amongst  English  nobles.  The  ducal  house 
of  Grafton  springs  from  the  king's  adultery  with  Barbara 
Palmer,  whom  he  created  Duchess  of  Cleveland.  The 
Dukes  of  St.  Albans  owe  their  origin  to  his  intrigue  with  Nell 
Gwynn,  a  player  and  a  courtezan.  Louise  de  Querouaille, 
a  mistress  sent  by  France  to  win  him  to  its  interests,  became 
Duchess  of  Portsmouth,  an  ancestress  of  the  house  of 
Richmond.  An  earlier  mistress,  Lucy  Walters,  had  made 
him  father  in  younger  days  of  the  boy  whom  he  raised  to 
the  dukedom  of  Monmouth,  and  to  whom  the  Dukes  of 
Buccleuch  trace  their  line.  But  Charles  was  far  from  being 
content  with  these  recognised  mistresses,  or  with  a  single 
form  of  self-indulgence.  Gambling  and  drinking  helped  to 
fill  up  the  vacant  moments  when  he  could  no  longer  toy 
with  his  favourites  or  bet  at  Newmarket.  No  thought  of 
remorse  or  of  shame  seems  ever  to  have  crossed  his  mind. 
"  He  could  not  think  God  would  make  a  man  miserable," 
he  said  once,  "  only  for  taking  a  little  pleasure  out  of  the 
way."  From  shame,  indeed,  he  was  shielded  by  his  cynical 
disbelief  in  human  virtue.  Virtue  he  regarded  simply  as  a 
trick  by  which  clever  hypocrites  imposed  upon  fools. 
Honour  among  men  seemed  to  him  as  mere  a  pretence  as 
chastity  among   women.     Gratitude   he  had   none,   for   he 


CHARLES  THE  SECOND.  9 

looked  upon  self- interest  as  the  only  motive  of  men's  actions, 
and  though  soldiers  had  died  and  women  had  risked  theil 
lives  for  him,  he  "loved  others  as  little  as  he  thought  they 
loved  him."  But  if  he  felt  no  gratitude  fur  benefits  he  felt 
no  resentment  for  wrongs.  He  was  incapable  either  of  love 
or  of  hate.  The  only  feeling  he  retained  for  his  fellow-men 
was  that  of  an  amused  contempt. 

It  was  difficult  for  Englishmen  to  believe  that  any  real 
danger  to  liberty  could  come  from  an  idler  and  a  voluptuary 
such  as  Charles  the  Second.     But  in  the  very  difficulty  of 
believing  this  lay  half  the  king's  strength.     He  had  in  fact 
no  taste  whatever  for  the  despotism  of  the  Stuarts  who  had 
gone  before  him.     His  shrewdness  laughed  his  grandfather's 
theories  of  Divine  Right  down  the  wind.     His  indolence 
made  such  a  personal  administration  as  that  which  his  father 
delighted  in  burthensome  to  him  :  he  was  too  humorous  a 
man  to  care  for  the  pomp  and  show  of  power,  and  too  good 
natured  a  man  to   play   the  tyrant.     He   told  Lord  Essex 
"  that  he  did  not  wish  to  be  like  a  Grand  Signior,  with  some 
mutes  about  him,  and  bags  of  bowstrings  to  strangle  men  ; 
but  he  did  not  think  he  was  a  king  so  long  as  a  company  of 
fellows  were    looking  into  his  actions  and  examining  his 
ministers  as  well  as  his  accounts.     A   king,"  he  thought, 
"  who  might  be  checked,  and  have  his   ministers  called  to 
account,  was  but  a  king  in  name."     In  other  words  he  had 
no  settled  plan  of  tyranny,  but  he  meant  to  rule  as  indepen- 
dently as  he  could,  and  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his 
reign  there  never  was  a  moment  when  he  was  not  d< 
something  to  carry  out  his  aim.     But  he  carried  it  out  in  a 
tentative,  irregular  fashion  which  it  was  as  hard  to  detect  as 
to  meet     Whenever  there  was   any  strong  opposition  he 
gave  way.     If  popular  feeling  demanded  the  dismissal  of  his 
ministers,  he  dismissed  them.     If  it  protested  against  his 
Declaration  of  Indulgence  he  recalled  it.     If  it  called  foi 


I0       PROSE  READINGS   FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

victims  in  the  frenzy  of  the  Popish  Plot,  he  gave  it  victims 
till  the  frenzy  was  at  an  end. 

It  was  easy  for  Charles  to  yield  and  to  wait,  and  just  as 
easy  for  him  to  take  up  the  thread  of  his  purpose  again  the 
moment  the  pressure  was  over.  The  one  fixed  resolw; 
which  overrode  every  other  thought  in  the  king's  mind  was 
a  resolve  "  not  to  set  out  on  his  travels  again.1'  His  father  3 
had  fallen  through  a  quarrel  with  the  two  Houses,  and 
Charles  was  determined  to  remain  on  good  terms  with  the 
Parliament  till  he  was  strong  enough  to  pick  a  quarrel  to 
his  profit.  He  treated  the  Lords  with  an  easy  familiarity 
which  robbed  opposition  of  its  seriousness.  "Their  de- 
bates amused  him,"  he  said,  in  his  indolent  way  ;  and  he 
stood  chatting  before  the  fire  while  peer  after  peer  poured 
invectives  on  his  ministers,  and  laughed  louder  than  the  rest 
when  Shaftesbury  directed  his  coarsest  taunts  at  the  barren- 
ness of  the  queen.  Courtiers  were  entrusted  with  the 
secret  "  management  "  of  the  Commons  :  obstinate  country 
gentlemen  were  brought  to  the  royal  closet  to  kiss  the  king's 
hand,  and  listen  to  the  king's  pleasant  stories  of  his  escape 
after  Worcester;  and  yet  more  obstinate  country  gentlemen 
were  bribed.  Where  bribes,  flattery,  and  management 
failed,  Charles  was  content  to  yield  and  to  wait  till  his  time 
rame  again. 

3  Charles  the  First. 


"THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  II 

III. 

"THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS." 

GREEN. 

{One  of  the  most  fatal  results  of  the  Restoration  of  Charles 
to  the  throne  was  the  loss  of  religious  liberty.  Laws  were 
made  which  required  all  Englishmen  to  conform  to  the 
episcopal  Church,  and  punished  those  who  attended  the 
worship  of  any  other  religious  body  with  imprisonment. 
Among  the  ministers  who  were  thus  punished  was  John 
Bunyan,  the  writer  of  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress." 

John  Bunyan  was  the  son  of  a  poor  tinker  at  Elstow  in 
Bedfordshire.  Even  in  childhood  his  fancy  revelled  in 
terrible  visions  of  heaven  and  hell.  "  When  I  was  but  a  child 
of  nine  or  ten  years  old,*'  he  tells  us,  "  these  things  did  so 
distress  my  soul,  that  then  in  the  midst  of  my  merry  sports 
and  childish  vanities,  amidst  my  vain  companions,  I  was 
often  much  cast  down  and  afflicted  in  my  mind  therewith  ; 
yet  could  I  not  let  go  my  sins."  The  sins  he  could  not  let 
go  were  a  love  of  hockey  and  of  dancing  on  the  village 
green  ;  for  the  only  real  fault  which  his  bitter  self-accusation 
discloses,  that  of  a  habit  of  swearing,  was  put  an  end  to  at 
once  and  for  ever  by  a  rebuke  from  an  old  woman.  His 
passion  for  bell-ringing  clung  to  him  even  after  he  had 
brokun  from  it  as  a  "vain  practice;"  and  he  would  go  to 
the  steeple-house  *  and  look  on,  till  the  thought  that  a  bell 
might  fall  and  crush  him  in  his  sins  drove  him  panic-stricken 
from  the  door.  A  sermon  against  dancing  and  games  drew 
him  for  a  time  from  these  indulgences;  but  the  temptation 
again  overmastered  his  resolve.  "  I  shook  the  sermon  out  of 
my   mind,   and   to  my  old   custom  of  sports  and  gaming  I 

1   The  chun  h. 


\i        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

returned  with  great  delight.  But  the  same  day,  as  I  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  game  of  cat,  and  having  struck  it  one  blow 
from  the  hole,  just  as  I  was  about  to  strike  it  the  second 
time  a  voice  did  suddenly  dart  from  heaven  into  my  soul, 
which  said,  '  Wilt  thou  leave  thy  sins  and  go  to  heaven,  or 
have  thy  sins  and  go  to  hell  ? '  At  this  I  was  put  in  an 
exceeding  maze  ;  wherefore,  leaving  my  cat  upon  the  ground 
I  looked  up  to  heaven ;  and  was  as  if  I  had  with  the  eyes 
of  my  understanding  seen  the  Lord  Jesus  looking  down 
upon  me,  as  being  very  hotly  displeased  with  me,  and  as  if 
He  did  severely  threaten  me  with  some  grievous  punishment 
for  those  and  other  ungodly  practices." 

It  was  in  this  atmosphere  of  excited  feeling  that  the  youth 
of  Bunyan  was  spent.  From  his  childhood  he  heard  hea- 
venly voices,  and  saw  visions  of  heaven  ;  from  his  childhood, 
too,  he  had  been  wrestling  with  this  overpowering  sense  of 
sin,  which  sickness  and  repeated  escapes  from  death  did 
much,  as  he  grew  up,  to  deepen.  But  in  spite  of  his  self- 
reproaches,  his  life  was  a  religious  one  ;  and  the  purity  and 
sobriety  of  his  youth  was  shown  by  his  admission  at  seven- 
teen into  the  ranks  of  the  "  New  Model."  2  Two  years  later 
the  war3  was  over,  and  Bunyan  found  himself  married  before 
he  was  twenty  to  a  "  godly  "  wife,  as  young  and  as  poor  as 
himself.  So  poor  were  the  young  couple  that  they  could 
hardly  muster  a  spoon  and  a  plate  between  them  ;  and  the 
poverty  of  their  home  deepened,  perhaps,  the  gloom  of  the 
young  tinker's  restlessness  and  religious  depression.  His 
wife  did  what  she  could  to  comfort  him,  teaching  him  again 
to  read  and  write,  for  he  had  forgotten  his  school-learning, 
and  reading  with  him  in  two  little  "godly"  books,  which 
formed  his  library.  But  the  darkness  only  gathered  the 
thicker  round  his  imaginative  soul.  "  I  walked,"  he  tells 
us  of  this  time,  "  to  a  neighbouring  town,  and  sate  down 
2   The  Puritan  army.  3  Against  Charles  the  First. 


"THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  13 

upon  a  settle  in  the  street,  and  fell  into  a  very  deep 
pause  about  the  most  fearful  state  my  sin  had  brought  me 
to ;  and  after  long  musing  I  lifted  up  my  head ;  but  me- 
thought  I  saw  as  if  the  sun  that  shineth  in  the  heavens  did 
grudge  to  give  me  light ;  and  as  if  the  very  stones  in  the 
street  and  tiles  upon  the  houses  did  band  themselves 
against  me.  Methought  that  they  all  combined  together  to 
banish  me  out  of  the  world.  I  was  abhorred  of  them,  and 
wept  to  dwell  among  them,  because  I  had  sinned  against 
the  Saviour.  Oh,  how  happy  now  was  every  creature 
over  I  1  for  they  stood  fast  and  kept  their  station.  But  I 
was  gone  and  lost." 

At  last,  after  more  than  two  years  of  this  struggle,  the 
darkness  broke.  Bunyan  felt  himself  "  converted,"  and 
freed  from  the  burthen  of  his  sin.  He  joined  a  Baptist 
church  at  Bedford,  and  a  few  years  later  he  became  famous 
as  a  preacher.  As  he  held  no  formal  post  of  minister  in  the 
congregation  his  preaching  even  under  the  Protectorate  4  was 
illegal,  and  "  gave  great  offence  "  he  tells  us,  "  to  the  doctors 
and  priests  of  that  county,"  but  he  persisted  with  little  real 
molestation  until  the  Restoration.  Six  months  after  the 
king's  return  he  was  committed  to  Bedford  Gaol  on  a  charge 
of  preaching  in  unlicensed  conventicles ;  and  his  refusal  to 
promise  to  abstain  from  preaching,  kept  him  there  eleven 
years.  The  gaol  was  crowded  with  prisoners  like  himself, 
and  amongst  them  he  continued  his  ministry,  supporting  him- 
self by  making  tagged  thread-laces  and  finding  some  com- 
fort in  the  Bible,  the  "  Book  of  Martyrs,"  and  the  writing 
materials  which  he  was  suffered  to  have  with  him  in  prison. 
But  he  was  in  the  prime  of  life  ;  his  age  was  thirty-two 
when  he  was  imprisoned,  and  the  inactivity  and  severam  e 
from  his  wife  and  little  children  was  hard  to  bear.  "The 
parting  with  my  wife  and  poor  children,"   he  says  in  words 

4  Of  Cromwell 


i4         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

of  simple  pathos,  "  hath  often  been  to  me  in  this  place  as 
the  pulling  of  the  flesh  from  the  bones,  and  that  not  only 
because  I  should  have  often  brought  to  my  mind  the  many 
hardships,  miseries,  and  wants  that  my  poor  family  was  like 
to  meet  with  should  I  be  taken  from  them,  especially  my 
poor  blind  child,  who  lay  nearer  to  my  heart  than  all  besides. 
Oh,  the  thoughts  of  the  hardships  I  thought  my  poor  blind 
one  might  go  under  would  break  my  heart  to  pieces.  •'  Poor 
child,'  thought  I,  '  what  sorrow  art  thou  like  to  have  for  thy 
portion  in  this  world !  Thou  must  be  beaten,  must  beg, 
suffjr  hunger,  cold,  nakedness,  and  a  thousand  calamities, 
thougri  I  cannot  now  endure  the  wind  should  blow  upon 
thee.'" 

But  suffering  could  not  break  his  purpose,  and  Bunyan 
found  compensation  for  the  narrow  bounds  of  his  prison  in 
the  wonderful  activity  of  his  pen.  Tracts,  controversial 
treatises,  poems,  meditations,  his  "  Grace  Abounding,"  and 
his  "  Holy  City,"  followed  each  other  in  quick  succession. 
It  was  in  his  gaol  that  he  wrote  the  first  and  greatest  part 
of  his  "  Pilgrim's  Progress."  In  no  book  do  we  see  more 
clearly  the  new  imaginative  force  which  had  been  given  to 
the  common  life  of  Englishmen  by  their  study  of  the  Bible. 
Its  English  is  the  simplest  and  the  homeliest  English  which 
has  ever  been  used  by  any  great  English  writer ;  but  it  is 
the  English  of  the  Bible.  The  images  of  the  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress "  are  the  images  of  prophet  and  evangelist ;  it 
borrows  for  its  tenderer  outbursts  the  very  verse  of  the 
Song  of  Songs,  and  pictures  the  heavenly  city  in  the  words 
of  the  Apocalypse.  But  so  completely  has  the  Bible  become 
Bunyan 's  life  that  one  feels  its  phrases  as  the  natural  expres- 
sion of  his  thoughts.  He  has  lived  in  the  Bible  till  its  words 
have  become  his  own.  He  has  lived  among  its  visions  and 
/oice  of  heaven  till  all  sense  of  possible  unreality  has  died 
;;\vay.      He  tells  his  tale  with  such  a  perfect  naturalness  that 


"THE  I'll  GRIM'S  PROGRESS."  15 

allegories  1-  come  living  things,  that  the  Slough  of  Despond 
ami  Doubling  Castle  are  as  real  t<>  us  as  places  we  see  every 
day,  that  we  know  Mr.  Legality  ami  Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman 
as  if  we  had  met  them  in  the  street.  It  is  in  this  amazing 
reality  of  impersonation  that  Humans  imaginative  genius 
specially  displays  itself. 

But  this   is  far  from  being  his  only   excellence.     In   its 
range,  in  its  directness,  in  its  simple  grace,  in  the  ease  with 
which  it  changes  from  lively  dialogue  to  dramatic  action, 
from  simple  pathos  to  passionate  earnestness,  in  the  subtle 
and  delicate  fancy  which  often  suffuses  its  childlike  words, 
in  its  playful  humour,  its  bold  character  painting,  in  the  even 
ami  balanced  power  which  passes  without  effort  from  the 
Valley  of  the   Shadow  of  Death   to   the  land  "  where  the 
shining    ones    commonly    walked    because    it   was    on    the 
borders  of  heaven,"  in  its  sunny  kindliness,  unbroken  by  no 
bitter  word,  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  is  among  the  noblest 
of  English  poems.     For  if  Puritanism  had  first  discovered 
the  poetry  which  contact  with  the  spiritual  world  awakes  in 
the  meanest  souls,  Bunyan  was  the  first  of  the  Puritans  who 
revealed  this  poetry  to   the  outer  world.     The.  journey  of 
Christian  from  the  City  of  Destruction  to  the  Heavenly  City 
is  simply  a  record  of  the  life  of  such  a  Puritan  as  Bunyan  him- 
self, seen  through  an  imaginative  haze  of  spiritual  idealism  in 
which  its  commonest  incidents  are  heightened  and  glorified. 
He  is  himself  the  Pilgrim  who  flies  from  the  City  of  Destruc- 
tion, who  climbs   the   hill   Difficulty,,  who  faces  Apollyon, 
who   sees  his  loved  ones  cross  the  river  of  Death  tov. 
the  Heavenly  City,  and  how,  because    "the  hill  on   whi<  h 
the  City  was  framed  was  higher  than  the  clouds,  they  there- 
fore went  up  through  the  region   of  the  air,  sweetly  talking 
as  they  went." 

The  popularity  which   the  "Pilgrim's  Progress'    enjoyed 
from   the  first  proves  that  the  religious  sympathies  of  the 


16        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

English  people  were  still  mainly  Puritan.  Before  Bimyan's 
death  in  1688  ten  editions  of  the  book  had  already  been 
sold,  and  though  even  Cowper  hardly  dared  to  quote  it  for 
fear  of  moving  a  sneer  in  the  polite  world  of  his  day,  its 
favour  among  the  middle  classes  and  the  poor  has  grown 
steadily  from  its  author's  day  to  our  own.  It  is  probably 
the  most  popular  and  the  most  widely  known  of  all  English 
books. 


IV. 

PERSECUTION  OF  COVENANTERS. 

SCOTT. 

[In  Scotland  the  struggle  between  the  crown  and  the  non- 
conformists took  a  more  violent  form.  The  great  mass 
of  the  Scotch  people  had  put  away  bishops  and  held  to 
the  government  of  the  Church  by  Presbyters  or  parish 
ministers.  They  had  embodied  their  belief  in  a  National 
Covenant.  Charles  insisted  on  putting  their  Church 
under  bishops,  and  on  rejecting  the  Covenant.  Many 
submitted ;  but  among  the  more  earnest  religionists  a 
stern  resistance  sprang  up.  They  withdrew  from  the 
churches,  and  gathered  in  meetings  or  conventicles  in 
the  fields  to  worship  God.  From  their  fidelity  to  the 
Covenant  they  were  called  Covenanters.  The  Govern- 
ment hunted  them  down  like  wild  beasts.] 

When  the  custom  of  holding  field  conventicles  was 
adopted,  it  had  the  effect  of  raising  the  minds  of  those  who 
frequented  them  to  a  higher  and  more  exalted  pitch  of 
enthusiasm.  The  aged  and  more  timid  could  hardly  engage 
on  distant  expeditions  into  the  wild  mountainous  districts 
and  the  barren  moors ;  and  the  greater  part  of  those  who 
attended  divine  worship  on  such  occasions  were  robust  of 


PERSECUTION  OF  COVENANTERS.  17 

body,  and  bold  of  spirit,  or  at  least  men  whose  deficiency 
of  strength  and  courage  was  more  than  supplied  by  religious 
zeal.  The  view  of  the  rocks  and  hills  around  them,  while  a 
sight  so  unusual  gave  solemnity  to  their  acts  of  devotion, 
encouraged  them  in  the  natural  thought  of  defending  them- 
selves against  oppression,  amidst  the  fortresses  of  nature's 
own  construction,  to  which  they  had  repaired  to  worship 
the  God  of  nature,  according  to  the  mode  their  education 
dictated  and  their  conscience  acknowledged.  The  recollec- 
tion that  in  these  fastnesses  their  fathers  had  often  found  a 
safe  retreat  from  foreign  invaders  must  have  encouraged 
their  natural  confidence,  and  it  was  confirmed  by  the  success 
with  which  a  stand  was  sometimes  made  against  small  bodies 
of  troops,  who  were  occasionally  repulsed  by  the  sturdy 
■\Yhigs  *  whom  they  attempted  to  disperse.  In  most  cases  of 
this  kind  they  behaved  with  moderation,  inflicting  no  further 
penalty  upon  such  prisoners  as  might  fall  into  their  hands 
than  detaining  them  to  enjoy  the  benefit  of  a  long  sermon. 
Fanaticism  added  marvels  to  encourage  this  new-born  spirit 
of  resistance.  They  conceived  themselves  to  be  under  the 
immediate  protection  of  the  Power  whom  they  worshipped, 
and  in  their  heated  state  of  mind  expected  even  miraculous 
interposition.  At  a  conventicle  held  on  one  of  the  Lomond 
hills  in  Fife,  it  was  reported  and  believed  that  an  angelic 
form  appeared  in  the  air,  hovering  about  the  assembled 
congregation,  with  his  foot  advanced,  as  if  in  the  act  of 
keeping  watch  for  their  safety. 

On  the  whole,  the  idea  of  repelling  force  by  force,  ami 
defending  themselves  against  the  attacks  of  the  soldiers,  and 
others  who  assaulted  them,  when  employed  in  divine 
worship,  began  to  become  more  general  among  the  harassed 
uonconformists.  For  this  purpose  many  of  the  congrega- 
tion assembled  in  arms,  and  I  received  the  following 
1  The  Covenanters  in  the  western  counties  were  called  Whigs. 


18        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

description  of  such  a  ~cene  from  a  lady  whose  mother  had 
repeatedly  been  present  on  such  occasions.  The  meeting 
was  held  on  the  Elldon  hills,2  in  the  bosom  betwixt  two  of 
the  three  conical  tops  which  form  the  crest  of  the  moun- 
tain. Trusty  sentinels  were  placed  on  advanced  posts  all 
around,  so  as  to  command  a  view  of  the  country  below, 
and  give  the  earliest  notice  of  the  approach  of  any  unfriendly 
party.  The  clergyman  occupied  an  elevated  temporary 
pulpit,  with  his  back  to  the  wind.  There  were  few  or 
no  males  of  any  quality  or  distinction,  for  such  persons 
could  not  escape  detection,  and  were  liable  to  ruin  from 
the  consequences.  But  many  women  of  good  condition, 
and  holding  the  rank  of  ladies,  ventured  to  attend  the  for- 
bidden meeting,  and  were  allowed  to  sit  in  front  of  the 
assembly.  Their  side-saddles  were  placed  on  the  ground  to 
serve  for  seats,  and  their  horses  were  tethered,  or  piqueted, 
as  it  is  called,  in  the  rear  of  the  congregation.  Before  the 
females,  and  in  the  interval  which  divided  them  from  the 
tent,  or  temporary  pulpit,  the  arms  of  the  men  present, 
pikes,  swords,  and  muskets,  were  regularly  piled  in  such 
order  as  is  used  by  soldiers,  so  that  each  man  might  in  an 
instant  assume  his  own  weapons. 

As  if  Satan  himself  had  suggested  means  of  oppression, 
Lauderdale3  raked  up  out  of  oblivion  the  old  and  barbarous 
laws  which  had  been  adopted  in  the  fiercest  times,  and 
directed  them  against  the  nonconformists,  especially  those 
who  attended  the  field  conventicles.  One  of  those  laws 
inflicted  the  highest  penalties  upon  persons  who  were  inter- 
communed,  as  it  was  called — that  is,  outlawed  by  legal 
sentence.  The  nearest  relations  were  prohibited  from  assist- 
ing each  other,  the  wife  the  husband,  the  brother  the  brother, 
and  the  parent  the  son,  if  the  sufferers  had  been  intercom- 

2  Near  Melrose.  3  The  Duke  of  Lauderdale  urn  tnc 

King's  minister  in  Scotland. 


PERSECUTION  OF  COVENANTERS.  ig 

rnuned  The  Government  of  this  cruel  time  applied  these 
ancient  and  barbarous  statutes  to  the  outlawed  Presbyte- 
rians of  the  period,  and  thus  drove  them  altogether  from 
human  society.  In  danger,  want,  and  necessity,  the  in- 
habitants of  the  wilderness,  and  expelled  from  civil  inter- 
course, it  is  no  wonder  that  we  find  many  of  these  wanderers 
avowing  principles  and  doctrines  hostile  to  the  government 
which  oppressed  them,  and  carrying  their  resistance  beyond 
the  bounds  of  mere  self-defence.  There  were  instances, 
though  less  numerous  than  might  have  been  expected,  of 
their  attacking  the  houses  of  the  curates,  or  of  others  by 
whose  information  they  had  been  accused  of  nonconformity; 
and  several  deaths  ensued  in  those  enterprises,  as  well  as  in 
skirmishes  with  the  military. 

Superstitious  notions  also,  the  natural  consequences  of  an 
uncertain,  melancholy,  and  solitary  life  among  the  desolate 
glens  and  mountains,  mingled  with  the  intense  enthusiasm  of 
this  persecuted  sect.  Their  occasional  successes  over  their 
oppressors,  and  their  frequent  escapes  from  the  pursuit  of 
the  soldiery,  when  the  marksmen  missed  their  aim,  or  when 
a  sudden  mist  concealed  the  fugitives,  were  imputed,  not  to 
the  operation  of  those  natural  causes  by  means  of  which  i  he- 
Deity  is  pleased  to  govern  the  world,  and  which  are  the 
engines  of  his  power,  but  to  the  direct  interposition  of  a 
miraculous  agency,  over-ruling  and  suspending  the  laws  of 
nature,  as  in  the  period  of  Scripture  history.  Many  of  the 
preachers,  led  away  by  the  strength  of  their  devotional 
enthusiasm,  conceived  themselves  to  be  the  vehicles  of 
prophecy,  and  poured  out  tremendous  denunciations  of 
future  wars,  and  miseries  more  dreadful  than  those  which 
they  themselves  sustained;  and,  as  they  imagined  themselves 
to  be  occasionally  under  the  miraculous  protection  of  the 
heavenly  powers,  so  they  often  thought  themselves  in  a 
peculiar  manner  exposed  to  the  envy  and  persecution  of  the 
IS 


20        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

spirits  of  darkness,  who  lamed  their  horses  when  they  were 
pursued,  betrayed  their  footsteps  to  the  enemy,  or  terrified 
them  by  ghastly  apparitions  in  the  dreary  caverns  and 
recesses  where  they  were  compelled  to  hide  themselves. 
But  especially  the  scattered  Covenanters  believed  firmly 
that  their  chief  persecutors  received  from  the  Evil  Spirit  a 
proof  against  leaden  bullets — a  charm,  that  is,  to  prevent 
their  being  pierced  or  wounded  by  them.  There  were  many 
supposed  to  be  gifted  with  this  necromantic  privilege.  In 
the  battle  of  Rullion  Green,  on  the  Pentland  Hills,  many  of 
the  Presbyterians  were  willing  to  believe  that  the  balls  were 
seen  hopping  like  hailstones  from  Tom  Dalziel's  buff-coat 
and  boots.  Silver  bullets  were  not  supposed  to  be  neutralized 
by  the  same  spell ;  but  that  metal  being  scarce  among  the 
persecuted  Covenanters,  it  did  not  afford  them  much  relief. 
To  John  Graham  of  Claverhouse,  a  Scottish  officer  of 
high  rank,  who  began  to  distinguish  himself  as  a  severe 
executor  of  the  orders  of  the  Privy  Council  against  non- 
conformists, the  Evil  Spirit  was  supposed  to  have  been  still 
more  liberal  than  to  Dalziel,  or  to  the  Englishman  who  died 
at  Caldons.  He  not  only  obtained  proof  against  lead,  but 
the  devil  is  said  to  have  presented  him  with  a  black  horse, 
which  had  not  a  single  white  hair  upon  its  body.  This 
horse,  it  was  said,  had  been  cut  out  of  the  belly  of  its  dam, 
instead  of  being  born  in  the  usual  manner.  On  this  animal 
Claverhouse  was  supposed  to  perform  the  most  unwonted 
feats  of  agility,  flying  almost  like  a  bird  along  the  sides  of 
precipitous  hills,  and  through  pathless  morasses,  where  an 
ordinary  horse  must  have  been  smothered  or  dashed  to  pieces. 
It  is  even  yet  believed,  that  mounted  on  this  steed,  Claver- 
house (or  Clavers,  as  he  is  popularly  called)  once  turned  a 
hare  on  the  mountain  named  the  Brandlaw,  at  the  head  of 
Moffatdale,  where  no  other  horse  could  have  kept  its  feet. 
But  these  exertions  were  usually  made  whilst  he  was  in 


PERSECUTION  OF  COVENANTERS.  2i 

pursuit  of  the  Wanderers,  which  was  considered  as  Satan's 
own  peculiar  pleasing  work. 

There  lived  at  this  gloomy  period,  at  a  place  called  Pres- 
hill,  or  Priesthill,  in  Lanarkshire,  a  man  named  John  Brown, 
a  carrier  by  profession,  and  called,  from  his  zealous  religious 
principles,  the  Christian  Carrier.  This  person  had  been  out 
with  the  insurgents  at  Bothwell  Bridge,4  and  was  for  other 
reasons  amenable  to  the  cruelty  of  the  existing  laws.  On  a 
morning  of  May,  1685,  Peden,  one  of  the  Cameronian 
ministers,  whom  Brown  had  sheltered  in.  his  house,  took  his 
leave  of  his  host  and  his  wife,  repeating  twice, — "  Poor 
woman  !  a  fearful  morning — a  dark  and  misty  morning  !  "  — 
words  which  were  afterwards  believed  to  be  prophetic  of 
calamity.  When  Peden  was  gone,  Brown  left  his  house  with 
a  spade  in  his  hand  for  his  ordinary  labour,  when  he  was 
suddenly  surrounded  and  arrested  by  a  band  of  horse,  with 
Claverhouse  at  their  head.  Although  the  prisoner  had  a 
hesitation  in  his  speech  on  ordinary  occasions,  he  answered 
the  questions  which  were  put  to  him  in  this  extremity  with 
such  composure  and  firmness,  that  Claverhouse  asked 
whether  he  was  a  preacher.  He  was  answered  in  the 
negative.  "  If  he  has  not  preached,"  said  Claverhouse, 
"  mickle5  hath  he  prayed  in  his  time.  But  betake  you  now 
to  your  prayers  for  the  last  time  "  (addressing  the  sufferer), 
"  for  you  shall  presently  die."  The  poor  man  kneeled  down 
anil  prayed  with  zeal  ;  and  when  he  was  touching  on  the 
political  state  of  the  country,  and  praying  that  Heaven 
would  spare  a  remnant,  Claverhouse,  interrupting  him,  said, 
"  I  gave  you  leave  to  pray,  and  you  are  preaching."  "  Sir," 
answered  the  prisoner,  turning  towards  his  judge  on  his 
knees,  "  you  know  nothing  either  of  preaching  or  praying,  if 

4  A  battle  fought  between  the  Covenanters  an, I  the  Duke  oj 
Monmouth,  in  which  they  were  routed.  Mud:. 


22       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

you  call  what  I  now  say  preaching  :  "■ — then  continued  with- 
out confusion. 

When  his  devotions  were  ended,  Claverhouse  commanded 
him  to  bid  good-night  to  his  wife  and  children.  Brown 
turned  towards  them,  and,  taking  his  wife  by  the  hand, 
told  her  that  the  hour  was  come  which  he  had  spoken  of 
when  he  first  asked  her  consent  to  marry  him.  The  poor 
woman  answered  firmly, — "  In  this  cause  I  am  willing  to 
resign  you."  "  Then  have  I  nothing  to  do  save  to  die,"  he 
replied ;  "and  I  thank  God  I  have  been  in  a  frame  to  meet 
death  for  many  years."  He  was  shot  dead  by  a  party  of 
soldiers  at  the  end  of  his  own  house ;  and  although  his  wife 
was  of  a  nervous  habit,  and  used  to  become  sick  at  the 
sight  of  blood,  she  had  on  this  occasion  strength  enough  to 
support  the  dreadful  scene  without  fainting  or  confusion, 
only  her  eyes  dazzled  when  the  carabines  were  fired.  While 
her  husband's  dead  body  lay  stretched  before  him,  Claver- 
house asked  her  what  she  thought  of  her  husband  now.  "  I 
ever  thought  much  of  him,"  she  replied,  "  and  now  more 
than  ever."  "  It  were  but  justice,"  said  Claverhouse,  "  to 
lay  thee  beside  him."  "  I  doubt  not,"  she  replied,  "that  if 
you  were  permitted,  your  cruelty  would  carry  you  that 
length.  But  how  will  you  answer  for  this  morning's  work  ?  " 
"To  man  I  can  be  answerable,"  said  Claverhouse,  "and 
Heaven  I  will  take  in  my  own  hand."  He  then  mounted  his 
horse  and  marched,  and  left  her  with  the  corpse  of  her 
husband  lying  beside  her,  and  her  fatherless  infant  in  her 
arms.  "  She  placed  the  child  on  the  ground,"  says  the  nar- 
rative with  scriptural  simplicity,  "tied  up  the  corpse's  head, 
and  straightened  the  limbs,  and  covered  him  with  her  plaid; 
and  sat  down  and  wept  over  him." 


THE  POPISH  PLOT.  23 

V. 

THE  POPISH  PLOT. 
MACAULAY. 

[While  he  was  thus  persecuting  the  dissenters  from  the 
National  Church,  the  steady  aim  of  Charles  the  Second 
was  to  set  the  crown  free  from  all  restraint  of  law  or 
Parliament  and  to  establish  a  despotism.  This  he  hoped 
to  do  by  the  aid  of  France,  and  with  this  view  he  again 
and  again  betrayed  the  interests  of  England  by  secret 
treaties  with  the  French  king.  Nor  was  he  truer  to  the 
Church  than  to  the  nation.  Fie  was  in  heart  a  Catholic  ; 
and  he  looked  forward  to  the  ruin  of  Protestantism, 
because  its  spirit  was  averse  from  arbitrary  power.  He 
shrank  indeed  from  avowing  his  faith  ;  but  his  brother, 
James,  Duke  of  York,  and  many  of  the  leading  statesmen 
and  nobles  of  the  time  became  Catholics.  Meanwhile, 
suspicions  of  the  king's  dealings  with  France  stole  abroad  : 
and  in  the  general  excitement  men  listened  to  the  lies  of 
Titus  Oates,  an  impostor  who  pretended  to  have  dis 
covered  a  Popish  plot  for  the  destruction  of  the  king  and 
the  nation.  The  country  went  mad  with  panic  ;  and 
many  foolish  and  cruel  things  were  done.] 

The  nation,  awaking  from  its  rapturous  trance  found 
itself  sold  to  a  foreign,  a  despotic,  a  Popish  court,  defeated 
on  its  own  seas  and  rivers  by  a  state ]  of  far  inferior 
resources,  and  placed  under  the  rule  of  panders  and 
buffoons.  Our  ancestors  saw  the  best  and  ablest  divines  of 
the  age  turned  out  of  their  benefices  by  hundreds.  They 
saw  the  prisons  filled  with  men  guilty  of  no  other  crime  than 
that  of  worshipping  God  according  to  the  fashion  generally 

1  The  DuU  h  had  defeated  the  English  fleets  and  sailed  in 
triumph  up  the  Thames. 


24       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

prevailing  throughout  Protestant  Europe.  They  saw  a 
Popish  queen  on  the  throne,  and  a  Popish  heir2  on  the 
steps  of  the  throne.  They  saw  unjust  aggression  followed 
by  feeble  war,  and  feeble  war  ending  in  disgraceful  peace. 
They  saw  a  Dutch  fleet  riding  triumphant  in  the  Thames. 
They  saw  the  triple  alliance  3  broken,  the  Exchequer  shut 
up,4  the  public  credit  shaken,  the  arms  of  England  employed, 
in  shameful  subordination  to  France,  against  a  country 5 
which  seemed  to  be  the  last  asylum  of  civil  and  religious 
liberty.  They  saw  Ireland  discontented,  and  Scotland  in 
rebellion.  They  saw,  meantime,  Whitehall  swarming  with 
sharpers  and  courtesans.  They  saw  harlot  after  harlot,  and 
bastard  after  bastard,  not  only  raised  to  the  highest  honours 
of  the  peerage,  but  supplied  out  of  the  spoils  of  the  honest, 
industrious,  and  ruined  public  creditor,  with  ample  means  of 
supporting  the  new  dignity.  The  government  became  more 
odious  every  day.  Even  in  the  bosom  of  that  very  House 
of  Commons  which  had  been  elected  by  the  nation  in  the 
ecstasy  of  its  penitence,  of  its  joy  and  of  its  hope,  an 
opposition  sprang  up  and  became  powerful.  Loyalty  which 
had  been  proof  against  all  the  disasters  of  the  civil  war, 
which  had  survived  the  routs  of  Naseby  and  Worcester,  which 
had  never  flinched  from  sequestration  and  exile,  which  the 
Protector  could  never  intimidate  or  seduce,  began  to  fail  in 
this  last  and  hardest  trial.  The  storm  had  long  been 
gathering.  At  length  it  burst  with  a  fury  which  threatened 
the  whole  frame  of  society  with  dissolution. 

It  was  natural  that  there  should  be  a  panic ;  and  it  was 
natural  that  the  people  should,  in  a  panic,  be  unreasonable 
and  credulous.     Oates  was  a  bad  man ;  but  the  spies   and 

2   The  King's  brother  James,  Duke  of  York.  3   The 

alliance  of  England,  Holland,  and  Sweden,  against  the  aggres- 
sion of  France.  4  At  the  opening  of  the  war  with  the 
Dutch.           5  Charles  joined  France  iti  its  attack  upon  Holland. 


I  111.   POPISH   PLOT.  25 

rters  by  whom  governments  arc  informed  of  conspiracies 
aie  generally  bat)  men.  His  story  was  strange  and  romantic  ; 
but  it  was  not  more  strange  or  romantic  than  a  well- 
authenticated  Popish  plot  which  some  few  people  then 
living  might  remember,  the  gunpowder  treason.  Oates's 
account  of  the  burning  of  London  was  in  itself  not  more 
improbable  than  the  project  of  blowing  up  King,  Lords, 
and  Commons,  a  project  which  had  not  only  been  enter- 
tained by  very  distinguished  Catholics,  but  which  had  very 
narrowly  missed  of  success.  As  to  the  design  on  the  King's 
person,  all  the  world  knew  that,  within  a  century,  two  Ki 
of  France  and  a  prince  of  Orange  had  been  murdered  by 
Catholics,  purely  from  religious  enthusiasm,  that  Elizabeth 
had  been  in  constant  danger  of  a  similar  fate,  and  that  swell 
attempts,  to  say  the  least,  had  not  been  discouraged  by  the 
highest  authority  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  The  characters 
of  some  of  the  accused  persons  stood  high ;  but  so  did  that 
of  Anthony  Babington  6  and  that  of  Everard  Digby.7  Those 
who  suffered  denied  their  guilt  to  the  last ;  but  no  persons 
versed  in  criminal  proceedings  would  attach  any  importance 
to  this  circumstance.  It  was  well  known  also  that  the  most 
distinguished  Catholic  casuists  had  written  largely  in 
defence  of  regicide,  of  mental  reservation,  and  of  equivoca- 
tion. It  was  not  quite  impossible  that  men  whose  minds 
had  been  nourished  with  the  writings  of  such  casuists 
might  think  themselves  justified  in  denying  a  charge  which, 
if  acknowledged,  would  bring  great  scandal  on  the  Church. 
The  trials  of  the  accused  Catholics  were  exactly  like  all  the 
state  trials  of  those  days ;  that  is  to  say,  as  infamous  as 
they  could  be.  They  were  neither  fairer  nor  less  fair  than 
those  of  Algernon  Sydney,  of  Rosewell,  of  Cornish,  of  all 
the   unhappy    men,   in  short,   whom  a  predominant  party 

f  Babington  took  part  hi  a  plot  for  murdering  Queen  Elisa- 
beth.       7  nigby  was  one  0/  t/te  leaders  in  the  Gunp  nttder  Plot* 


26       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

brought  to  what  was  then  facetiously  called  justice.  Till 
the  revolution  purified  our  institutions  and  our  manners,  a 
state-trial  was  merely  a  murder  preceded  by  the  uttering  of 
certain  gibberish  and  the  performance  of  certain  mummeries. 
The  Opposition  had  now  the  great  body  of  the  nation 
with  them.  Thrice  the  King  dissolved  the  Parliament ; 
and  thrice  the  constituent  body  sent  him  back  representa- 
tives fully  determined  to  keep  strict  watch  on  all  his 
measures,  and  to  exclude  his  brother  from  the  throne.  Had 
the  character  of  Charles  resembled  that  of  his  father,  this 
intestine  discord  would  infallibly  have  ended  in  civil  war. 
Obstinacy  and  passion  would  have  been  his  ruin.  His 
levity  and  apathy  were  his  security.  He  resembled  one  of 
those  light  Indian  boats  which  are  safe  because  they  are 
pliant,  which  yield  to  the  impact  of  every  wave,  and  which 
therefore  bound  without  danger  through  a  surf  in  which  a 
vessel  ribbed  with  heart  of  oak  would  inevitably  perish. 
The  only  thing  about  which  his  mind  was  unalterably  made 
up  was  that,  to  use  his  own  phrase,  he  would  not  go  on 
his  travels  again  for  anybody  or  for  anything.  His  easy, 
indolent  behaviour  produced  all  the  effects  of  the  most 
artful  policy.  He  suffered  things  to  take  their  course ;  and 
if  Achitophel  had  been  at  one  of  his  ears,  and  Machiavel 
at  the  other,  they  could  have  given  him  no  better  advice 
than  to  let  things  take  their  course.  He  gave  way  to  the 
violence  of  the  movement,  and  waited  for  the  correspond- 
ing violence  of  the  rebound.  He  exhibited  himself  to  his 
subjects  in  the  interesting  character  of  an  oppressed  king, 
who  was  ready  to  do  anything  to  please  them,  and  who 
asked  of  them,  in  return,  only  some  consideration  for  his 
conscientious  scruples  and  for  his  feelings  of  natural  affec- 
tion, who  was  ready  to  accept  any  ministers,  to  grant  any 
guarantees  to  public  liberty,  but  who  could  not  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  take  away  his  brother's  birthright.     Nothing  more 


THE  POPISH   l'LOT.  27 

was  necessary.  He  had  to  deal  with  a  people  whose  noble 
weakness  it  has  always  been  not  to  press  too  hardly  on  the 
vanquished,  with  a  people  the  lowest  and  most  brutal  of 
whom  cry  "  shame,"  if  they  see  a  man  struck  when  he  is 
on  the  ground.  The  resentment  which  the  nation  had  felt 
towards  the  court  began  to  abate  as  soon  as  the  court  was 
manifestly  unable  to  offer  any  resistance.  The  panic- 
gradually  subsided.  Every  day  brought  to  light  some  new 
falsehood  or  contradiction  in  the  stories  of  Oates  and 
Bedloe.  The  people  were  glutted  with  the  blood  of  Papists 
as  they  had,  twenty  years  before,  been  glutted  with  the 
blood  of  regicides.  When  the  firsr  sufferers  in  the  plot 
were  brought  to  the  bar,  the  witnesses  toi  the  defence  were 
in  danger  of  being  torn  in  pieces  by  the  mob.  Judges, 
jurors,  and  spectators  seemed  equally  indifferent  to  justice, 
and  equally  eager  for  revenge.  Lord  Stafford,  the  last 
sufferer,  was  pronounced  not  guilry  by  a  large  minority  of 
his  peers;  and  when  he  protested  his  innocence  on  the 
scaffold,  the  people  cried  out,  "  God  bless  you,  my  lord  ; 
we  believe  you,  my  lord."  The  attempt  to  make  a  son 
of  Lucy  Waters7  King  of  England  was  alike  offensive  to 
the  pride  of  the  nobles  and  to  the  moral  feeling  of  the 
middle  class.  The  old  cavalier  party,  the  great  majority  of 
the  landed  gentry,  the  clergy  and  the  universities  almost  to 
a  man,  began  to  draw  together,  and  to  form  in  close  array 
round  the  throne. 

A  similar  reaction  had  begun  to  take  place  in  favour  of 
Charles  the  First  during  the  second  session  of  the  Long 
Parliament  j  and,  if  that  prince  had  been  honest  or 
sagacious  enough  to  keep  himself  strictly  within  the  limits 
of  the  law,  we  have  not  the  smallest  doubt  that  he  would 
in  a  few  months  have  found  himself  at  least  as  powerful  as 

7  A  mistress  of  Charles^  whose  son,  the  Puke  of  Afonwouth. 
wine  wished  to  make  king  in  place  of  the  Puke  of  York. 
15* 


PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

his  best  friends,  Lord  Falkland,  Culpepper,  or  Hyde,  would 
have  wished  to  see  him.  By  illegally  impeaching  the  lead- 
ers of  the  Opposition,  and  by  making  in  person  a  wicked 
attempt  on  the  House  of  Commons,  he  stopped  and  turned 
back  that  tide  of  loyal  feeling  which  was  just  beginning  tc 
run  strongly.  The  son,  quite  as  little  restrained  by  law  or 
by  honour  as  the  father,  was,  luckily  for  himself,  a  man  of  a 
lounging,  careless  temper,  and,  from  temper,  we  believe, 
rather  than  from  policy,  escaped  that  great  error  which  cost 
his  father  so  dear.  Instead  of  trying  to  pluck  the  fruit 
before  it  was  ripe,  he  lay  still  till  it  fell  mellow  into  his  very 
mouth.  If  he  had  arrested  Lord  Shaftesbury  ana  Lord 
Russell  8  in  a  manner  not  warranted  by  law,  it  is  not  im- 
probable that  he  would  have  ended  his  life  in  exile.  He 
took  the  sure  course.  He  employed  only  his  legal  pre- 
rogatives, and  he  found  them  amply  sufficient  for  his 
purpose. 

The  whole  of  that  machinery  which  had  lately  been  in 
motion  against  the  Papists  was  now  put  in  motion  against 
the  Whigs,9 — brow-beating  judges,  packed  juries,  lying  wit- 
nesses, clamorous  spectators.  The  ablest  chief  of  the  party 
fled  to  a  foreign  country  and  died  there.10  The  most 
virtuous  man  u  of  the  party  was  beheaded.  Another  of  its 
most  distinguished  members  preferred  a  voluntary  death  to 
the  shame  of  a  public  execution.  The  boroughs  on  which 
the  government  could  not  depend  were,  by  means  of  legal 
quibbles,  deprived  of  their  charters ;  and  their  constitution 
was  remodelled  in  such  a  manner  as  almost  to  ensure  the 
return  of  representatives  devoted  to  the  court.  All  parts  of 
the  kingdom  emulously  sent  up  the  most  extravagant  assur- 
ances of  the  love  which   they  bore  to  their  sovereign,  and 

R  The  leaders  of  the  party  opposed  to  the  court.  9   The 

party  opposed  to  the  court.  10  Lord  Shaftesbury  died  in 

exile  in  Holland.  n  Lord  Russell. 


THE  TRIAL  OF  THE  SEVEN   BISHOPS.  -N 

of  the  abhorrence  with  which  they  regarded  those  who 
questioned  the  divine  origin  or  the  boundless  extent  of  his 
power. 


VI. 

THE  TRIAL  OF  THE  SEVEN  BISHOPS. 
MACKINTOSH. 

[Charles  had  only  begun  to  take  advantage  of  the  turn  ot 
national  feeling  which  followed  on  the  exposure  of  the 
Popish  Plot  when  his  death  placed  his  brother,  James  the 
Second,  on  the  throne.  James  was  resolved  to  rule  as 
a  despot ;  and  this  he  might  have  succeeded  in  doing. 
But  he  was  a  bigoted  Catholic,  and  resolved  besides  to 
make  England  a  Catholic  country.  In  his  efforts  to  do 
this,  he  set  against  him  all  the  classes  who  had  hitherto 
supported  the  throne,  and  above  all  the  clergy.  They 
refused  to  read  a  Declaration  of  Indulgence  which  he 
illegally  published  ;  and  seven  of  the  Bishops  waited  on 
the  King  himself  with  a  protest.  James  treated  this  as  a 
libel,  and  ordered  them  to  be  put  on  their  trial.] 

On  the  15th  of  June  the  Bishops  were  brought  before 
the  Court  of  King's  Bench  by  a  writ  of  Habeas  Corpus. 
On  leaving  the  Tower  they  refused  to  pay  the  fees  required 
by  Sir  Edward  Hales  as  lieutenant,  whom  they  charged 
with  discourtesy.  He  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  say  that 
the  fees  were  a  compensation  for  the  irons  with  which  he 
might  have  loaded  them,  and  the  bare  walls  and  floor  to 
which  he  might  have  confined  their  accommodation.  They 
answered,  "We  lament  the  King's  displeasure,  but  every 
other  man  loses  his  breath  who  attempts  to  intimidate  us." 
On  landing  from  their  barge  they  were  received  with 
increased  reverence  by  a  great  multitude,  who  made  a  lane 
for  them,  and  followed  them  into  Westminster  HalL     The 


30       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

nuncio,1  unused  to  the  slightest  breath  of  popular  feeling, 
was  subdued  by  these  manifestations  of  enthusiasm,  which 
he  relates  with  more  warmth  than  any  other  contemporary. 
"  Of  the  immense  concourse  of  people,"  says  he,  "  who 
received  them  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  the  majority  in 
their  immediate  neighbourhood  were  on  their  knees ;  the 
Archbishop2  laid  his  hands  on  the  heads  of  such  as  he 
could  reach,  exhorting  them  to  continue  steadfast  in  their 
faith  ;  they  cried  aloud  that  all  should  kneel,  while  tears 
flowed  from  the  eyes  of  many."  In  the  Court  of  King's 
Bench  they  were  attended  by  the  twenty-nine  peers,  who 
offered  to  be  their  sureties,  and  the  court  was  instantly 
filled  by  a  crowd  of  gentlemen  attached  to  their  cause. 

The  Bishops  pleaded  Not  Guilty,  and  they  were  enlarged, 
on  their  own  undertaking  to  appear  on  the  trial,  which  was 
appointed  to  be  on   the   29th  of  June.     As   they  left   the 
court  they  were  surrounded  by  crowds,   who  begged  their 
blessing.      The   Bishop  of  St.   Asaph,   detained   in   Palace 
Yard  by  a  multitude,  who  kissed  his  hands  and  garments, 
was    delivered   from  their   importunate    kindness   by  Lord 
Clarendon,  who,    taking    him    into    his   carriage,  found    it 
necessary  to  make  a  circuit   through  the  Park   to  escape 
from    the    bodies    of  people    by  whom    the   streets   were 
obstructed.     Shouts  and  huzzas  broke  out  in  the  court  and 
were  repeated  all  around  at  the  moment  of  the  enlargement. 
The  bells  of  the  Abbey  Church  of  Westminster  had  begun 
to  ring  a  joyful  peal,  when  they  were  stopped  by  Sprat3 
amidst  the  execrations  of  the  people.     No  one  knew,  said 
the  Dutch  Minister,  what  to  do  for  joy.     When  the  Arch- 
bishop landed  at  Lambeth,  the  grenadiers  of  Lord  Lich- 
field's   regiment,    though    posted    there    by   his    enemies, 

1  James  had,  in  defiance  of  the  law,  received  a  nuncio  or  am- 
bassador from  the  Pope.  2  Sancroft,  Archbishop  of  Canter- 

bury. 3  Bishop  Sprat,  Dean  of  Westminster. 


THE  TRIAL  OF  THE  SEVEN  BISHOPS.  31 

received  him   with    military   honours,    made  a   lane  for    1  is 
passage  from  the  river  to  his  palace,  and  fell  on  their  ki 
to  ask  his  blessing.     In  the  evening  the  premature  joy  at 
this  temporary  liberation  displayed    itself  in   bonfires  and  in 
some  outrages  to  Roman  Catholics,  as  the  supposed  u 
gators  of  the  prosecution. 

[In  spite  of  these  displays  of  national  feeling,  James  pi  1 
sisted  in  bringing  the  bishops  to  trial,  and   at   the   end   ol 
June  they  were  brought  to  the  bar]. 

After  a  trial  which  lasted   ten  hours,  the  jury   retiied  at 
seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  to  consider  their  verdict.     The 
friends  of  the  Bishops  watched  at  the  door  of  the  jury-room, 
and  heard  loud  voices  at  midnight  and  at  three  o'clock,  so 
anxious  were  they  about  the  issue,  though  delay  be  in  such 
cases  a  sure  symptom  of  acquittal.     The  opposition  of  one 
Arnold,  the  brewer  of  the   King's   house,  being  at   length 
subdued  by  the  steadiness  of  the  others,  they  informed  the 
Chief  Justice,  at  six  o'clock   in  the  morning,  that  the  jury 
were  agreed  in  their  verdict,  and  desired  to   know  when  he 
would   receive  it.     The   Court    met  at  nine  o'clock.     The 
nobility  and  gentry  covered  the  benches,  and   an   immense 
concourse  of  people  filled    the   hall,  and   blocked   up   the 
adjoining  streets.     Sir  Robert  Langley,  the  foreman  of  the 
jury,   being,  according  to   established  form,  asked   whethe  r 
the  accused  were  guilty  or  not  guilty,  pronounced  the  verdii  t 
"  Not  guilty."     No  sooner  were  these  words  uttered  than  a 
loud  huzza  arose  from  the  audience  in   the  court.     It  was 
instantly  echoed  from  without    by  a  shout  of  joy,   which 
sounded  like  a  crack  of  the  ancient  and  massy  root'  of  West- 
minster Hall.     It  passed  with  electrical  rapidity  from  \ 
to  voice   along    the    infinite    multitude   who  waited   in    the 
streets.     It  reached  the  Temple  in   a  few  minutes.     For  a 
short  time  no   man   seemed   to   know   where   1  e  was.     No 
business  was  done  for  hours.  The  Sol  citoi  '  '•■  neral  informed 


32        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Lord  Sunderland,  in  the  presence  of  the  nuncio,  that  never 
within  the  remembrance  of  man  had  there  been  heard 
such  cries  of  applause  mingled  with  tears  of  joy.  "  The 
acclamations,"  says  Sir  John  Rerresby,  "  were  a  very 
rebellion  in  noise."  In  no  long  time  they  ran  to  the  camp 
at  Hounslow,  and  were  repeated  with  an  ominous  voice  by 
the  soldiers  in  the  hearing  of  the  King,  who,  on  being  told 
that  they  were  for  the  acquittal  of  the  bishops,  said,  with  an 
ambiguity  probably  arising  from  confusion,  "  So  much  the 
worse  for  them." 

The  jury  were  received  with  the  loudest  acclamations; 
hundreds  with  tears  in  their  eyes  embraced  them  as 
deliverers.  The  bishops,  almost  alarmed  at  their  own 
success,  escaped  from  the  huzzas  of  the  people  as  privately 
as  possible,  and  exhorted  them  to  fear  God  and  honour  the 
King.  Cartwright,4  Bishop  of  Chester,  had  remained  in 
court  during  the  trial  unnoticed  by  any  of  the  crowd  of 
nobility  and  gentry,  and  Sprat  met  with  little  more  regard. 
Cartwright,  in  going  to  his  carriage,  was  called  "a  wolf  in 
sheep's  clothing ; "  and  as  he  was  very  corpulent,  the 
populace  cried  out,  "  Room  for  the  man  with  a  pope  in  his 
belly  1  "  They  bestowed  also  on  Sir  William  Williams5 
very  mortifying  proofs  of  disrespect.  Money  was  thrown 
among  the  populace  to  drink  the  healths  of  the  King,  the 
bishops,  and  the  jury.  In  the  evening  they  did  so  together 
with  confusion  to  the  Papists,  amidst  the  ringing  of  bells, 
and  around  bonfires  which  were  lighted  throughout  the 
city,  blazing  before  the  windows  of  the  King's  palace,  where 
the  Pope  was  burned  in  effigy  by  those  who  were  not  aware 
of  his  lukewarm  friendship  for  their  enemies.  Bonfires 
were  particularly  kindled  before  the  doors  of  the  most 
distinguished  Roman  Catholics,  who  were  required  by  the 

4  Bishop  Cartwright  and  Sprat  were  on  the  Kind's  Hue. 

5  One  of  the  counsel  for  the  crown. 


THE  LANDING   OF    WILLIAM    01      01   A.NGE. 


multitude     to     defray    the    expense     of    this    annoyance. 
Lord  Arundel  and  others  submitted.     Lord  Salisbury,  with 
the  zeal  of  a  new  convert,  sent  his  servants  to  disp<  r  e  the 
rabble;  but  after  having  fired  and  killed  the   parish  beadle, 
who  came  to  quench  the  bonfire,  they  were  driven  hack  into 
the  house.     All   parties,    Dissenters   as  well  as  Churchmen, 
rejoiced  in  the  acquittal;  the  bishops  and  their  friends  vainly 
laboured  to  temper    the    extravagance   with  which   it  was 
expressed.     The  nuncio,  at  first  touched   by  the  effusion  of 
popular  feeling,  but  now  shocked  by  this  boisterous  triumph, 
declared   "  that  the  fires  over  the  whole  city,  the  drinking  in 
every    street,    accompanied  by   cries  to   the   health   of  the 
bishops  and  confusion   to   the   Catholics,  with   the   play  of 
fireworks   and    the    discharge    of   firearms,   and   the    other 
demonstrations  of  furious  gladness,  mixed  with  impious  out- 
rage against  religion,  which  were  continued  during  the  night, 
formed  a  scene  of  unspeakable  horror,  displaying,  in  all  its 
rancour,  the   malignity  of  this   heretical   people  against  the 
Church."     The    bonfires  were  kept    up    during  the  whole 
of  Saturday,  and  the  disorderly  joys  of  the   multitude  did 
not  cease  till  the  dawn   of  Sunday  reminded   them   of  the 
duties  of  their  religion. 


VII. 
THE  LANDING  OF  WILLIAM  OF  ORANGE. 

MACAULAY. 

[England  was  at  last  driven  to  revolt  by  the  tyranny  of 
James;  and  some  of  the  greatest  nobles  called  William, 
Prince  of  Orange,  to  put  himself  at  the  head  ^\  the  national 
rising.     William   had   married  Mary,  th<  laughter 

of  lames,   who   had  till   of  late   been    looked   on    as   ins 
destined  successor.     He  gathered    a  fleet  and   army    in 


34        PROSE  READINGS  FROM   ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Holland,  and  in  1688  set  sail  for  the  English  shores.  His 
first  attempt  was  foiled  by  a  storm  ;  in  a  second  he  was 
more  fortunate.] 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  Thursday  the  1st  of  November 
that  William  put  to  sea  the  second  time.  The  wind 
blew  fresh  from  the  east.  The  armament,  during  twelve 
hours,  held  a  course  towards  the  north-west.  The 
light  vessels  sent  out  by  the  English  Admiral,1  for  the 
purpose  of  obtaining  intelligence,  brought  back  news  which 
confirmed  the  prevailing  opinion  that  the  enemy  would  try 
to  land  in  Yorkshire.  All  at  once,  on  a  signal  from  the 
Prince's  ship,  the  whole  fleet  tacked  and  made  sail  for  the 
British  Channel.  The  same  breeze  which  favoured  the 
voyage  of  the  invaders  prevented  Dartmouth  from  coming 
out  of  the  Thames.  His  ships  were  forced  to  strike  yards 
and  topmasts  :  and  two  of  his  frigates,  which  had  gained 
the  open  sea,  were  shattered  by  the  violence  of  the  weather 
and  driven  back  into  the  river. 

The  Dutch  fleet  ran  fast  before  the  gale,  and  reached  the 
Straits  at  about  ten  in  the  morning  of  Saturday,  the  3rd 
of  November.  William  himself,  in  the  Brill,  led  the  way. 
More  than  six  hundred  vessels,  with  canvas  spread  to  a 
favourable  wind,  followed  in  his  train.  The  transports  were 
in  the  centre.  The  men  of  war,  more  than  fifty  in  number, 
formed  an  outer  rampart.  Herbert,  with  the  title  of  Lieu- 
tenant Admiral  General,  commanded  the  whole  fleet.  Soon 
after  midday  William  passed  the  Straits.  His  fleet  spread 
to  within  a  league  of  Dover  on  the  north,  and  of  Calais  on 
the  south.  The  men  of  war  on  the  extreme  right  and  left 
saluted  both  fortresses  at  once.  The  troops  appeared  under 
arms  on  the  decks.  The  flourish  of  trumpets,  the  clash  of 
cymbals,  and  the  rolling  of  drums  were  distinctly  heard  at 
once  on  the  English  and  French  shores.  An  innumerable 
1   The  admiral  of  James  tl:c  SecoHd,  Lord  Dartmouth. 


THIi  LANDING  OF  WILLIAM  OF  ORANGE.  35 

company  of  gazers  blackened  the  white  beach  of  Kent. 
Another  mighty  multitude  covered  the  coast  of  Picardy. 
Rapin  de  Thoyras,  who,  driven  by  persecution  from  his 
country,  had  taken  service  in  the  Dutch  army,  and  now 
went  with  the  Prince  to  England,  described  the  spectacle, 
many  years  later,  as  the  most  magnificent  and  affecting  that 
was  ever  seen  by  human  eyes.  At  sunset  the  armament 
was  off  Beachy  Head.  Then  the  lights  were  kindled.  The 
sea  was  in  a  blaze  for  many  miles.  But  the  eyes  of  all 
the  steersmen  were  directed  throughout  the  night  to  three 
huge  lanterns  which  flamed  on  the  stern  of  the  Brill. 

Meanwhile  a  courier  had  been  riding  post  from  Dover 
Castle  to  Whitehall  with  the  news  that  the  Dutch  had  pa 
the  Straits  and  were  steering  westward.  It  was  necessary 
to  make  an  immediate  change  in  all  the  military  arras 
ments.  Messengers  were  despatched  in  every  direction. 
Officers  were  roused  from  their  beds  at  dead  of  night.  At 
three  on  the  Sunday  morning  there  was  a  great  muster  by 
torch-light  in  Hyde  Park.  The  King  had  sent  several 
regiments  northward  in  the  expectation  that  William  would 
land  in  Yorkshire.  Expresses  were  despatched  to  recall 
them.  All  the  forces  except  those  which  were  necessary  to 
keep  the  peace  of  the  capital  were  ordered  to  move  to  the 
west.     Salisbury  was  appointed  as  the  place  of  rendezvous  ; 

m  / 

but,  as  it  was  thought  possible  that  Portsmouth  might  la- 
the first  point  of  attack,  three  battalions  of  guards  and  a 
strong  body  of  cavalry  set  out  for  that  fortress.  In  a  few 
hours  it  was  known  that  Portsmouth  was  safe,  and  i: 
troops  then  received  orders  to  change  their  route  and  to 
hasten  to  Salisbury. 

,  When  Sunday  the  4th  of  November  dawned,  the  cliffs 
of  the  Isle  of  Wight  were  full  in  view  of  the  Dut<  h  arma- 
ment. That  day  was  the  anniversary  both  of  William's 
birth  and  of  his  marriage.       Sail  was  slackened  durii  g  part 


36       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

of  the  morning ;  and  divine  service  was  performed  on 
board  of  the  ships.  In  the  afternoon  and  through  the 
night  the  fleet  held  on  its  course.  Torbay  was  the  place 
where  the  Prince  intended  to  land.  But  the  morning  of 
Monday  the  5th  of  November  was  hazy.  The  pilot  of  the 
Brill  could  not  discern  the  sea  marks,  and  carried  the  fleet 
too  far  to  the  west.  The  danger  was  great.  To  return  in 
the  face  of  the  wind  was  impossible.  Plymouth  was  the 
next  port.  But  at  Plymouth  a  garrison  had  been  posted 
under  the  command  of  the  Earl  of  Bath.  The  landing 
might  be  opposed  ;  and  a  check  might  produce  serious  con- 
sequences. There  could  be  little  doubt,  moreover,  that  by 
this  time  the  royal  fleet  had  got  out  of  the  Thames,  and  was 
hastening  full  sail  down  the  Channel.  Russell  saw  the  whole 
extent  of  the  peril,  and  exclaimed  to  Burnet,2  "  You  may 
go  to  prayers,  Doctor,  all  is  over."  At  that  moment  the 
wind  changed:  a  soft  breeze  sprang  up  from  the  south  ;  the 
mist  dispersed ;  the  sun  shone  forth  ;  and,  under  the  mild 
light  of  an  autumnal  noon,  the  fleet  turned  back,  passed 
round  by  the  lofty  cape  of  Berry  Head,  and  rode  safe  in  the 
harbour  of  Torbay. 

Since  William  looked  on  that  harbour  its  aspect  has 
greatly  changed.  The  amphitheatre  which  surrounds  the 
spacious  basin  now  exhibits  everywhere  the  signs  of  pros- 
perity and  civilization.  At  the  north-eastern  extremity  lias 
sprung  up  a  great  watering-place,3  to  which  strangers  are 
attracted  from  the  most  remote  parts  of  our  island  by  the 
Italian  softness  of  the  air,  for  in  that  climate  the  myrtle 
flourishes  unsheltered,  and  even  the  winter  is  milder  than 
the  Northumbrian  April.  The  inhabitants  are  about  ten 
thousand  in  number.  The  newly -built  churches  and  chapels, 
the  baths  and  libraries,  the  hotels  and  public  gardens,  the 
infirmary  and  the  museum,  the  white  streets,  rising  terrace 
2  An  English  chaplain  of  William.  3  Torquay. 


THE  LANDING  OF  WIL1  1AM  01   ORANGE. 

above   terrace,  the  gay   villas  peeping    from  the  midst 
shrubberies  and   flower-beds,    present   a    spe<  tacle  widely 

rent  from  any  that  in  the  seventeenth  century  Engl 
could  show.     At  the  opposite  end  of  the  hay  lies,  sheltered 
by  Berry  Head,  the  stirring  market-town  of  Brixham,  the 
wealthiest  seat  of  our  fishing  trade.      A  pier  and  a  haven 
were  formed  there  at  the  beginning  of  the  present  century, 
but  have  been  found  insufficient  for  the  increasing  traffic 
The  population  is  about  six  thousand  souls.     The  shipping 
amounts   to   more  than   two  hundred   sail.       The   tonna 
exceeds  many  tunes  the   tonnage  of  the  port  of  Liverpool 
under  the  kings  of  the  House  of  Stuart.      But  Torbay,  when 
the    Dutch  fleet    cast  anchor  there,    was  known  only  as  a 
haven  where  ships  sometimes  took  refuge  from  the  tempests 
of  the  Atlantic.      Its  quiet  shores  were   undisturbed   by  the 
bustle  either  of  commerce  or  of  pleasure  :  and  the   huts  of 
ploughmen  and  fishermen  were  thinly  scattered  over  wh 
now  the  site  of  crowded  marts  and  of  luxurious  pavilions. 

The  peasantry  of  the  coast  of  Devonshire  remember  d 
the  name  of  .Monmouth4  with  affection,  and  held  Popery  in 
detestation.  They  therefore  crowded  down  to  the  seaside 
with  provisions  and  offers  of  service.  The  disembarkation 
instantly  commenced.  Sixty  boats  conveyed  the  troops  to 
the  coast.  MacKay  was  sent  on  shore  first  with  the  British 
regiments.  The  Prince  soon  followed,  lie  landed  where 
the  quay  of  Brixham  now  stands.  The  whole  aspect  of  the 
place  has  been  altered.  Where  we  now  see  a  port  ( rowded 
with  shipping,  and  a  marketplace  swarming  with  buyers  ami 
sellers,  the  waves  then  broke  on  a  desoiate  beach  ;  but  a  ; 
ment  of  the  rock  on  which  the  deliverer  stepped  from  his 
boat  has  been  carefully  preserved,  and  is  set  up  as  an 
object  of  public  veneration  in  the  centre  of  that  busy  wharf. 

4  At  the  opening  of  James's  reign  the  Duke  of  Monmouth 

raised  a  revolt  in  the  western  counties. 


3S       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 


VIII. 

KILLIECRANKIE. 

SCOTT. 

[In  England  William  met  with  no  opposition.  The  people 
rose  against  James,  his  own  officers  forsook  him,  and  he 
fled  over  sea.  In  Scotland,  however,  the  famous  Claver- 
house,  who  had  now  become  Viscount  Dundee,  took  refuge 
in  the  Highlands  and  called  their  clans  to  arms.] 

Dundee  resolved  to  preserve  the  castle  of  Blair,  so 
important  as  a  key  to  the  Northern  Highlands,  and  marched 
to  protect  it  with  a  body  of  about  two  thousand  High- 
landers, with  whom  he  occupied  the  upper  and  northern 
extremity  of  the  pass  between  Dunkeld  and  Blair. 

In  this  celebrated  defile,  called  the  Pass  of  Killiecrankie, 
the  road  runs  for  several  miles  along  the  banks  of  a  furious 
river,  called  the  Garry,  which  rages  below,  amongst 
cataracts  and  waterfalls  which  the  eye  can  scarcely  discern, 
while  a  series  of  precipices  and  wooded  mountains  rise  on 
the  other  hand  ;  the  road  itself  is  the  only  mode  of  access 
through  the  glen,  and  along  the  valley  which  lies  at  its 
northern  extremity.  The  path  was  then  much  more 
inaccessible  than  at  the  present  day,  as  it  ran  close  to  the 
bed  of  the  river,  and  was  now  narrower  and  more  rudely 
formed. 

A  defile  of  such  difficulty  was  capable  of  being  defended 
to  the  last  extremity  by  a  small  number  against  a  consider- 
able army  ;  and  considering  how  well  adapted  his  followers 
were  for  such  mountain  warfare,  many  of  the  Highland 
chiefs  were  of  opinion  that  Dundee  ought  to  content 
himself  with  guarding  the  pass  against  MacKay's1  superior 
1   T lie  general  of  William' 's  force  in  Scotland. 


KILLI  KORAN  K  IE.  39 

army,  until  a  rendezvous,  which  they  had  appointed,  should 
assemble  a  stronger  force  of  their  countrymen. 
Dundee  was  of  a  different  opinion,  and  resolved  to  suffer 
Mac  Kay  to  march  through  the  pass  without  opposition,  and 
then  to  fight  him  in  the  open  valley,  at  the  northern  extremity. 
He  chose  this  bold  measure,  both  because  it  promised  a 
decisive  result  to  the  combat  which  his  anient  temper 
desired;  and  also  because  he  preferred  fighting  Ma<  Kay 
before  that  General  was  joined  by  a  considerable  body  of 
English  horse  who  were  expected,  and  of  whom  the 
Highlanders  had  at  that  time  some  dread. 

On  the  17th  June,  16S9,  General  MacKay  with  his  troo 
entered  the  pass,  which,  to  their  astonishment,  they  found 
unoccupied  by  the  enemy.     His  forces  were  partly  English 
and  Dutch  regiments,  who,  with  many  of  the  Lowland  & 
themselves,  were  struck  with  awe,  and  even  fear,  at  rinding 
themselves  introduced  by  such  a  magnificent,  and,  at   the 
same    time,  formidable   avenue  to   the  presence    of    their 
enemies,   the  inhabitants  of   these  tremendous  mountains, 
into  whose  recesses  they  were  penetrating.     But  besides  the 
effect   produced  on   their   minds   by   the    magnificence    of 
natural  scenery,  to  which  they  were  wholly  unaccustomed, 
the  consideration  must  have  hung  heavy  on  them,  that  if  a 
General  of   Dundee's  talents  suffered   them  to  march  un- 
opposed through  a  pass  so  difficult,  it  must  be  because  he 
was   conscious  of   possessing  strength   sufficient    to  atta<  k 
and  destroy  them  at  the  further  extremity,  when  their  only 
retreat  would  lie  through  the  narrow  and  perilous  path  by 
which  they  were  now  advancing. 

Mid-day  was  past  ere  MacKay's   men  were   extricated 
from  the  defile,  when  their  general  drew  them  up  in  one 
line   three  deep,  without  any  reserve,   along  the   southern 
extremity  of  the  narrow  valley  into  which  the  pass  0] 
A  hill  on  the  north  side  of  the  valley,  covered  with  dwarf 


4o       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

trees  and  bushes,  formed  the  position  of  Dundee's  army, 
which,  divided  into  columns,  formed  by  the  different  clans, 
was  greatly  outflanked  by  MacKay's  troops. 

The  armies  shouted  when  they  came  in  sight  of  each 
other ;  but  the  enthusiasm  of  MacKay's  soldiers  being 
damped  by  the  circumstances  we  have  observed,  their 
military  shout  made  but  a  dull  and  sullen  sound  compared 
to  the  yell  of  the  Highlanders,  which  rang  far  and  shrill  from 
all  the  hills  around  them.  Sir  Evan  Cameron  of  Lochiel 
called  on  those  around  him  to  attend  to  this  circumstance, 
saying,  that  in  all  his  battles  he  observed  victory  had  ever 
been  on  the  side  of  those  whose  shout  before  joining 
seemed  most  sprightly  and  confident.  It  was  accounted  a 
less  favourable  augury  by  some  of  the  old  Highlanders  that 
Dundee  at  this  moment,  to  render  his  person  less  distin- 
guishable, put  on  a  sad-coloured  buff-coat  above  the  scarlet 
cassock  and  bright  cuirass  in  which  he  had  hitherto 
appeared. 

It  was  some  time  ere  Dundee  had  completed  his  prepara- 
tions for  the  assault  which  he  meditated,  and  only  a  few 
dropping  shots  were  exchanged,  while,  in  order  to  prevent 
the  risk  of  being  outflanked,  he  increased  the  intervals 
between  .the  columns  with  which  he  designed  to  charge, 
insomuch  that  he  had  scarce  men  enough  left  in  the  centre. 
About  an  hour  before  sunset,  he  sent  word  to  MacKay  that 
he  was  about  to  attack  him,  and  gave  the  signal  to  charge. 

The  Highlanders  stript  themselves  to  their  shirts  and 
doublets,  threw  away  everything  that  could  impede  the 
fury  of  their  onset,  and  then  put  themselves  in  motion, 
accompanying  with  a  dreadful  yell  the  discordant  sound  of 
their  war-pipes.  As  they  advanced,  the  clansmen  fired  their 
pieces,  each  column  thus  pouring  in  a  well-aimed  though 
irregular  volley,  then  throwing  down  their  fusees,  without 
waiting  to  reload,  they  drew  their  swords,  and   increasing 


KILLIECRANKIE. 

their  pace  to  the  utmost  speed,  pierced  through  and  broke 
the  thin  line  which  was  opposed  to  them,  and  rj  by 

their  superior  activity  and   the  nature  of  their  weapon 
make  a  great  havoc  among  the  regular  troops.     When  thus 
mingled  with  each  other,  hand  to  hand,  the  advanl 
superior    discipline    on    the    part    of    the    Lowland    soldier 
were  lost — agility  and    strength   were   on    the    side  of   the 
mountaineers.     Some  accounts  of  the  battle  give  a  terrific 
account  of  the  blows  struck  by  the  Highlanders,  which  cleft 
heads  down  to  the  breast,  cut  steel  headpieces  asm 
night-caps,  and  slashed   through   pikes   like  willows.     Two 
of  MacKay's   English  regiments   in  the  centre  stood   fast, 
the  interval  between  the  attacking  columns  being  so  great 
that  none  were  placed  opposite  to  them.     The  rest  of  King 
William's  army  were   totally  routed  and    driven    headlong 
into  the  river. 

Dundee  himself,  contrary  to  the  advice  of  the  Highland 
chiefs,  was  in  front  of  the  battle,  and  fatally  conspicuous. 
By  a  desperate  attack  he  possessed  himself  of  Mu  In.  ay- 
artillery,  and  then  led  his  handful  of  cavalry,  about  fifty 
men,  against  two  troops  of  horse,  which  fled  without 
fighting.  Observing  the  stand  made  by  the  two  English 
regiments  already  mentioned,  he  galloped  towards  the  clan 
of  MacDonald,  and  was  in  the  act  of  bringing  them  to  the 
charge,  with  his  right  arm  elevated,  as  if  pointing  the 
to  victory,  when  he  was  struck  by  a  bullet  beneath  the  arm- 
pit, where  he  was  unprotected  by  his  cuirass.  He  tried  to 
ride  on,  but  being  unable  to  keep  the  saddle,  fell  morl 
wounded,  and  died  in  the  course  of  the  night. 

It  was  impossible  for  a  victory  to  be  more  complete  i 
that  gained   by   the    Highlanders    at    Killiecrankie.       The 
cannon,  baggage,  the  stores  of  MacKay's  army,  fell  into 
their  hands.     The  two  regiments   which   kept    their  ground 
suffered  so  much  in  their  attempt  to  retreat  through  the  p 


42       TROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY 

now  occupied  by  the  Athole-men.  in  their  rear,  that  they 
might  be  considered  as  destroyed.  Two  thousand  of 
MacKay's  army  were  killed  or  taken,  and  the  General  himself 
escaped  with  difficulty  to  Stirling,  at  the  head  of  a  few 
horse.  The  Highlanders,  whose  dense  columns,  as  they 
came  down  to  the  attack,  underwent  three  successive 
volleys  from  MacKay's  line,  had  eight  hundred  men 
slain. 

But  all  other  losses  were  unimportant  compared  to  that 
of  Dundee,  with  whom  were  forfeited  all  the  fruits  of  that 
bloody  victory.  MacKay,  when  he  found  himself  free 
from  pursuit,  declared  his  conviction  that  his  opponent 
had  fallen  in  the  battle.  And  such  was  the  opinion  of 
Dundee's  talents  and  courage,  and  the  general  sense  of 
the  peculiar  crisis  at  which  his  death  took  place,  that  the 
common  people  of  the  low  country  cannot,  even  now,  be 
persuaded  that  he  died  an  ordinary  death.  They  say, 
that  a  servant  of  his  own,  shocked  at  the  severities  which, 
if  triumphant,  his  master  was  likely  to  accomplish  against 
the  Presbyterians,  and  giving  way  to  the  popular  preju- 
dice of  his  having  a  charm  against  the  effect  of  lead  balls, 
shot  him,  in  the  tumult  of  the  battle,  with  a  silver 
button  taken  from  his  livery  coat.  The  Jacobites,  and 
Episcopal  party,  on  the  other  hand,  lamented  the  deceased 
victor  as  the  last  of  the  Scots,  the  last  of  the  Grahams, 
and  the  last  of  all  that  was  great  in  his  native  country. 


MASSACRF  OF  GLENCO& 

IX. 

MASSACRE  OF  GLENCOE. 
SCOTT. 

|  All  resistance  ceased  with  the  death  of  Dundee,  and  the 
clans  submitted  to  William.  But  the  triumph  of  the 
Government  was  sullied  by  a  terrible  crime.  <  >ne  small 
clan,  the  MacDonalds  of  Glencoe,  failed  to  give  in  tluir 
submission  by  the  appointed  day.  and  as  they  had  li 
been  hostile,  the  Secretary  for  Scotch  Affairs,  Daliym] 
resolved  to  take  this  opportunity  of  putting  them  to  the 
sword.  His  plan  was  carried  out  with  a  treachery  equal 
(o  its  cruelty.] 

This  clan  inhabited  a  valley  formed  by  the  river  Coe,  or 
C  ma,  which  falls  into  Lochleven,  not  far  from  the  head  of 
Loch  Etive.  It  is  distinguished,  even  in  that  wild  country, 
by  the  sublimity  of  the  mountains,  rocks,  and  precipices,  in 
which  it  lies  buried.  The  minds  of  men  are  formed  by 
their  habitations.  The  MacDonalds  of  the  Glen  were 
very  numerous,  seldom  mustering  above  two  hundred  armed 
men  :  but  they  were  bold  and  daring  to  a  proverb,  confident 
in  the  strength  of  their  country,  and  in  the  protection  and 
support  of  their  kindred  tribes,  the  MacDonalds  of  Clan- 
ranald,  Glengarry,  Keppoch,  Ardnamurchan,  and  others  oi 
that  powerful  name.  They  also  lay  near  the  possessions  of 
the  Campbells,  to  whom,  owing  Lo  ihe  predatory  habits 
to  which  they  were  especially  addicted,  they  were  very  bad 
neighbours,  so  that  blood  had  at  different  times  been  spilt 
between  them. 

Before  the  end  of  January  a  party  of  the  Earl  of  Argyle'a 
regiment,  commanded  by  Captain  Campbell,  of  GlenlyoD, 
16 


44       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

approached  Glencoe.  Maclan's1  sons  went  out  to  meet 
them  with  a  body  of  men,  to  demand  whether  they  came 
as  friends  or  foes.  The  officer  replied  that  they  came  as 
friends,  being  sent  to  take  up  their  quarters  for  a  short 
time  in  Glencoe,  in  order  to  relieve  the  garrison  of  Fort 
"William,  which  was  crowded  with  soldiers.  On  this  they 
were  welcomed  with  all  the  hospitality  which  the  chief  and 
his  followers  had  the  means  of  extending  to  them,  and  they 
resided  for  fifteen  days  amongst  the  unsuspecting  Mac- 
Donalds,  in  the  exchange  of  every  species  of  kindness 
and  civility.  That  the  laws  of  domestic  affection  might  be 
violated  at  the  same  time  with  those  of  humanity  and 
hospitality,  you  are  to  understand  that  Alister  MacDonald, 
one  of  the  sons  of  Maclan,  was  married  to  a  niece  of  Glen- 
lyon,  who  commanded  the  party  of  soldiers.  It  appears 
also  that  the  intended  cruelty  was  to  be  exercised  upon 
defenceless  men  :  for  the  MacDonalds,  though  afraid  of  no 
other  ill-treatment  from  their  military  guests,  had  supposed 
it  possible  the  soldiers  might  have  a  commission  to  disarm 
them,  and  therefore  had  sent  their  weapons  to  a  distance, 
where  they  might  be  out  of  reach  of  seizure. 

Glenlyon's  party  had  remained  in  Glencoe  for  fourteen  or 
fifteen  days,  when  he  received  orders  from  his  commanding 
officer,  Major  Duncanson,  expressed  in  a  manner  which 
shows  him  to  have  been  the  worthy  agent  of  the  cruel 
Secretary. 

This  letter  reached  Glenlyon  soon  after  it  was  written  ; 
and  he  lost  no  time  in  carrying  the  dreadful  mandate  into 
execution.  In  the  interval,  he  did  not  abstain  from  any  of 
those  acts  of  familiarity  which  had  lulled  asleep  the  suspi- 
cions of  his  victims.  He  took  his  morning  draught,  as  had 
been  his  practice  every  day  since  he  came  to  the  glen,  at 
the  house  of  Alister  MacDonald,  Maclan's  second  son,  who 
1  The  chief  of  the  clan. 


MASSACRE  OF  GLENCOE.  45 

was  married  to  his  (Glonlyon's)  niece.  He,  ami  two  of  his 
officers,  named  Lindsay,  accepted  an  invitation  to  dinner 
from  Maclan  himself  for  the  following  day,  on  which  they 
had  determined  he  should  never  see  the  sun  r.sc.  To  com- 
plete the  sum  of  treachery,  Glenlyon  played  at  cards  in  his 
own  quarters  with  the  sons  of  Mai  I  in,  John  and  Ali 
both  of  whom  were  also  destined  for  slaughter. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  13th  of  Feb- 
ruary the  scene  of  blood  began.  A  party,  commanded  by 
one  of  the  Lindsays,  came  to  Maclan 's  house  and  knocked 
for  admittance,  which  was  at  once  given.  Lindsay,  one  of 
the  expected  guests  at  the  family  meal  of  the  day,  com- 
manded this  party,  who  instantly  shot  Maclan  dead  by  his 
own  bedside,  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  dressing  himself,  and 
giving  orders  for  refreshments  to  be  provided  for  his  fatal 
visitors.  His  aged  wife  was  stripped  by  the  savage  soldiery, 
who  at  the  same  time  drew  off  the  gold  rings  from  her 
fingers  with  their  teeth.  She  died  the  next  day,  distracted 
with  grief,  and  the  brutal  treatment  she  had  received. 
Several  domestics  and  clansmen  were  killed  at  the  same 
place. 

The  two  sons  of  the  aged  chieftain  had  not  been  alto- 
gether so  confident  as  their  father  respecting  the  peaceful 
and  friendly  purpose  of  their  guests.  They  observed,  on 
the  evening  preceding  the  massacre,  that  the  sentinels  were 
doubled  and  the  mainguard  strengthened.  John,  the  elder 
brother,  had  even  overheard  the  soldiers  muttering  among 
themselves  that  they  cared  not  about  fighting  the  men  o( 
the  glen  fairly,  but  did  not  like  the  nature  of  the  servu  e 
they  were  engaged  in;  while  others  consoled  themselves 
with  the  military  logic,  that  their  officers  must  be  answerable 
for  the  orders  given,  they  having  no  choice  save  to  1 
them.  Alarmed  with  what  had  been  thus  observed  and  heard, 
the  young  men  hastened  to  Glenlyon's  quarters,  wl  ■*•■  they 


46       1'ROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

found  that  officer  and  his  men  preparing  their  arms.  On  ques- 
tioning him  about  these  suspicious  appearances,  Glenlyon 
accounted  for  them  by  a  story  that  he  was  bound  on  an  ex- 
pedition against  some  of  Glengarry's  men  ;  and  alluding  to 
the  circumstance  of  their  alliance,  which  made  his  own 
cruelty  more  detestable,  he  added,  "  If  anything  evil  had 
been  intended,  would  I  not  have  told  Alister  and  my  niece  ?  " 

Reassured  by  this  communication,  the  young  men  retired 
to  rest,  but  were  speedily  awakened  by  an  old  domestic, 
who  called  on  the  two  brothers  to  rise  and  fly  for  their  lives. 
"  Is  it  time  for  you,"  he  said,  "  to  be  sleeping,  when  your 
father  is  murdered  on  his  own  hearth  ?  "  Thus  roused,  they 
hurried  out  in  great  terror,  and  heard  throughout  the  glen, 
wherever  there  was  a  place  of  human  habitation,  the  shouts 
of  the  murderers,  the  report  of  the  muskets,  the  screams  of 
the  wounded,  and  the  groans  of  the  dying.  By  their  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  scarce  accessible  cliffs  amongst  which  they 
dwelt,  they  were  enabled  to  escape  observation,  and  fled  to 
the  southern  access  of  the  glen. 

Meantime  the  work  of  death  proceeded  with  as  little 
remorse  as  Stair  himself  could  have  desired.  Even  the 
slight  mitigation  of  their  orders  respecting  those  above 
seventy  years  was  disregarded  by  the  soldiery  in  their  indis- 
ciiminate  thirst  for  blood,  and  several  very  aged  and  bed- 
ridden persons  were  slain  amongst  others.  At  the  hamlet 
where  Glenlyon  had  his  own  quarters,  nine  men,  including 
his  landlord,  were  bound  and  shot  like  felons ;  and  one  of 
them,  MacDonald  of  Auchintriaten,  had  General  Hill's 
passport  in  his  pocket  at  the  time.  A  fine  lad  of  twenty 
had,  by  some  glimpse  of  compassion  on  the  part  of  the 
soldiers,  been  spared,  when  one  Captain  Drummond  came 
up,  and  demanding  why  the  orders  were  transgressed  in  that 
particular,  caused  him  instantly  to  be  put  to  death.  A  boy 
of  fve  or  six  years  old  clung  to  Glenlyon's  knees,  entreating 


MASSAt  RE  OF  Gl  EN(  01  -J7 

for  mercy,  and  offering  to  become  his  servant  for  life  if  he 
would  spare  him,     Glenlyon    was  moved  ;  but    the 
Prummond  stabbed  the  child  with  his  dirk,  while  he  w.is  in 
this  agony  of  supplication. 

At  a  place  called  Auchnaion  one   Barber,  a  sergeant,  with 
a  party  of  soldiers,  fired   on  a  group  of  nine    M  Ids, 

as  they  were  assembled  round  their  morning  fire,  and  killed 
four  of  them.  The  owner  of  the  house,  a  brother  of  the 
slain  Auchintriaten,  escaped  unhurt,  and  expressed  a  wish  to 
be  put  to  death  rather  in  the  open  air  than  within  the  house. 
"  For  your  bread  which  I  have  eaten,"  answered  I'.arbcr,  "  1 
will  grant  the  request."  MacDonald  was  dragged  to  the 
door  accordingly;  but  he  was  an  active  man,  and  when 
the  soldiers  were  presenting  their  firelocks  to  shoot  him,  lie 
cast  his  plaid  over  their  faces,  and  taking  advantage  of 
the  confusion,  broke  from  them,  and  escaped  up  the  glen. 

The  alarm  being  now  general,  many  other  persons,  male 
and  female,  attempted  their  escape  in  the  same  mamu 
the  two  sons  of  Maclan  and  the  person  last  mentioned. 
Flying  from  their  burning  huts,  and  from  their  murderous 
visitors,  the  half-naked  fugitives  committed  themselves  to  a 
winter  morning  of  darkness,  snow,  and  storm,  amidst  a 
wilderness  the  most  savage  in  the  West  Highlands,  having 
a  bloody  death  behind  them,  and  before  them  tempest, 
famine,  and  desolation.  Bewildered  in  the  snow  wreaths, 
several  sunk  to  rise  no  more.  But  the  severities  of  the 
storm  were  tender  mercies  compared  to  the  cruelty  of  their 
persecutors.  The  great  fall  of  snow,  which  proved  fatal  to 
several  of  the  fugitives,  was  the  means  of  saving  the  rem- 
nant that  escaped.  Major  Duncanson.  the 
plan  expressed  in  his  orders  to  Glenlyon,  had  not  failed  to 
put  himself  in  motion,  with  four  hundred  men,  on  the 
evening  preceding  the  slaughter;  and  had  he  reached  the 
eastern  passes  out  of  Glencoe  1".  four  in  the  in               :>  he 


48        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

calculated,  he  must  have  intercepted  and  destroyed  all  those 
who  took  that  only  way  of  escape  from  Glenlyon  and  his 
followers.  But  as  this  reinforcement  arrived  so  late  as 
eleven  in  the  forenoon,  they  found  no  MacDonald  alive  in 
Glencoe,  save  an  old  man  of  eighty,  whom  they  slew  ;  and 
after  burning  such  houses  as  were  yet  unconsumed,  they 
collected  the  property  of  the  tribe,  consisting  of  twelve 
hundred  head  of  cattle  and  horses,  besides  goats  and  sheep, 
and  drove  them  off  to  the  garrison  of  Fort  William. 

Thus  ended  this  horrible  deed  of  massacre.  The  number 
of  persons  murdered  was  thirty-eight ;  those  who  escaped 
might  amount  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  males,  who,  with  the 
women  and  children  of  the  tribe,  had  to  fly  more  than 
twelve  miles  through  rocks  and  wildernesses,  ere  they  could 
reach  any  place  of  safety  or  shelter. 


X. 

MARLBOROUGH  AT  BLENHEIM. 

GREEN. 

[The  accession  of  William  to  the  throne  was  followed  by  a 
great  struggle  with  France,  which  was  now  striving  to 
gain  a  supremacy  over  the  whole  of  Europe.  The 
war,  which  ended  with  the  peace  of  Ryswick,  was  again 
reopened  by  an  attempt  to  make  the  French  virtually 
masters  of  Spain  and  its  dominions ;  and  William,  who 
was  dying,  begged  his  successor,  Queen  Anne,  to  entrust 
the  English  army  to  John  Churchill,  Earl  of  Marlborough. 
Churchill  had  been  a  finished  and  unscrupulous  courtier 
under  the  Stuarts ;  he  now  showed  himself  the  greatest 
general  England  has  ever  produced.] 

The  new  general 1   hastened  to  the  Hague,  received  the 
command  of  the  Dutch  as  well   as  of  the  English  forces, 

1  Marlborottglu 


MAkl.Bl  U«  (UGH   A  I    i:i  EN  ill  IM. 

an;1,  (hew  the  German   powers  into  the  Confederacy  with 
a    skill  and    adroitness   which    even    William-    might    i 
envied.     Never  was  greatness  mure  quickly  recognised  than 
in    the   case  of    Marlborough.     In   a  few  months  he 
regarded  by  all  as  the  guiding  spirit  of  the   Alliance,  ami 
princes    whose   jealous)'    had    worn    out    the    patience    of 
William  yielded   without  a  struggle  to   the   counsels  of  his 
successor.     The  temper,  indeed,  of  Marlborough  fitted  him 
in   an   especial  way  to  be  the  head  of  a  great  confedei 
Like   William    he  owed    little    of   his  power  to    any    early 
training.     The  trace  of  his   neglected    education  was  s 
to  the  last  in   his  reluctance  to  write.     "  Of  all  things,"  he 
said    to    his   wife,  "  I    do    not    love    writing."     To  pen  a 
despatch  indeed  was  a  far  greater  trouble  to  him  than  to 
plan  a    campaign.       But  nature    had    given   him    q 
which    in    other   men    spring    specially  from  culture.     His 
capacity  for  business  was  immense.     During  the  next   ten 
years    he    assumed    the  general    direction    of    the    war  in 
Flanders    and  in  Spain.     lie    managed    every  negotiation 
with  the  courts  of  the  allies.     He  watched  over  the  shift- 
ing phases  of    English    politics.      He    had    to    cross    the 
Channel  to  win  over  Anne  to  a  change  in  the  Cabinet,  or 
to  hurry  to  Berlin  to  secure  the  due  contingent  of  Ele< 
troops  from   Brandenburg.     At  the   same  moment  he  was 
reconciling  the  Emperor  with  the  Protestants  of  II 
stirring  the  Calvinists  of  the  Cevennes  into  revolt,  an 
ing  the  affairs  of  Portugal,  and  providing  for  the  protection 
of  the  Duke  of  Savoy.      But  his  air  showed  no   tra< 
fatigue  or  haste  or  vexation.     He  retained  to  the  last  the 
indolent    grace    of    his    youth.       His    natural    dignity    was 
never  ruffled  by  an  outbreak  of  temper.      Amidst  the  St       l 
of    battle  men    saw    him,   "without    fear  of  danger    or    in 
the  least  hurry,    giving   his    orders   with    all    the    calnuu-ss 
-    William  //if  Third. 


5o       PROSE  READINGS  FROM   ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

imaginable."  In  the  cabinet  he  was  as  cool  as  on  the 
battle-field.  He  met  with  the  same  equable  serenity  the 
pettiness  of  the  German  princes,  the  phlegm  of  the  Dutch, 
the  ignorant  opposition  of  his  officers,  the  libels  of  his 
political  opponents.  There  was  a  touch  of  irony  in  the 
simple  expedients  by  which  he  sometimes  solved  prob- 
lems which  had  baffled  Cabinets.  The  King  of  Prussia 
was  one  of  the  most  vexatious  among  the  allies,  but  all 
difficulty  with  him  ceased  when  Marlborough  rose  at  a  state 
banquet  and   handed   to   him  a  napkin. 

Churchill's  composure  rested  partly  indeed  on  a  pride 
which  could  not  stoop  to  bare  the  real  self  within  to  the 
eyes  of  meaner  men.  In  the  bitter  moments  before  his 
fall  he  bade  Godolphin  burn  some  querulous  letters  which 
the  persecution  of  his  opponents  had  wrung  from  him. 
"  My  desire  is  that  the  world  may  continue  in  their  error  of 
thinking  me  a  happy  man,  for  I  think  it  better  to  be  envied 
than  pitied/'  But  in  great  measure  it  sprang  from  the 
purely  intellectual  temper  of  his  mind.  His  passion  for 
his  wife  was  the  one  sentiment  which  tinged  the  colourless 
light  in  which  his  understanding  moved.  In  all  else  he 
was  without  love  or  hate,  he  knew  neither  doubt  nor  regret. 
In  private  life  he  was  a  humane  and  compassionate  man ; 
but  if  his  position  required  it  he  could  betray  English- 
men to  death  in  his  negotiations  with  St.  Germains,  or 
lead  his  army  to  a  butchery  such  as  that  of  Malplaquet 
Of  honour  or  the  finer  sentiments  of  mankind  he  knew 
nothing;  and  he  turned  without  a  shock  from  guiding 
Europe  and  winning  great  victories  to  heap  up  a  matchless 
fortune  by  peculation  and  greed.  He  is  perhaps  the  only 
instance  of  a  man  of  real  greatness  who  loved  money  for 
money's  sake.  The  passions  which  stirred  the  men  around 
im,  whether  noble  or  ignoble,  were  to  him  simply  elements 
in  an  intellectual   problem    which    had    to    be    solved    by 


MAR]  BOROUGH  AT  BLENHI  IM 

patience.  "  Patience  will  overcome  all  things,"  he  writ. 
ami  again.   "  As  I  think  most  things  arc  governed  by  desl 
having  done  all  things  we  should  submit  with  patiem 

As  a  statesman  the  high  qualities  of  Marlborough  were 
owned  by  his  bitterest  foes.  "  Over  the  Confed 
Bolingbroke,  "he,  a  new,  a  private  man,  acquired  by  merit 
and  management  a  more  decided  influence  than  high  birth, 
confirmed  authority,  and  even  the  crown  of  Great  Britain, 
had  given  to  King  William."  But  great  as  he  was  in  the 
council,  he  was  even  greater  in  the  field.  He  stands  alone 
amongst  the  masters  of  the  art  of  war  as  a  captain  whose 
victories  began  at  an  age  when  the  work,  of  most  men  is 
done.  Though  he  served  as  a  young  officer  under  Turenne 
and  for  a  few  months  in  Ireland  and  the  Netherlands, 
he  had  held  no  great  command  till  he  took  the  field  in 
Flanders  at  the  age  of  fifty-two.  He  stands  alone,  too,  in 
his  unbroken  good  fortune.  Voltaire  notes  that  he  never 
besieged  a  fortress  which  he  did  not  take,  or  fought  a  battle 
which  he  did  not  win.  His  difficulties  came  not  from  the 
enemy,  but  from  the  ignorance  and  timidity  of  his  own 
allies.  He  was  never  defeated  on  the  field  ;  but  victory 
after  victory  was  snatched  from  him  by  the  incapacity  of  his 
officers,  or  the  stubbornness  of  the  Dutch.  In  his  second 
campaign  of  1703,  as  in  his  earlier  campaign  of  the 
ceding  year,  his  hopes  were  foiled  by  the  deputies  of  the 
State-General.  Serene  as  his  temper  was,  it  broke  down 
before  their  refusal  to  co-operate  in  an  attack  on  Antwerp 
and  French  Flanders;  and  the  prayers  of  Godolphin  ai 
the  pensionary  Heinsius3  alone  induced  him  to  withdraw 
his  offer  of  resignation.  But  in  spite  of  victories  on  the 
Danube,  the  blunders  of  his  adversaries  on  the  Rhine, 
the  sudden  aid  of  an  insurrection  which  broke  out  in 
Hungary,  the  difficulties  of  Lewis4   were   hourly  increa 

3  T/ie  two  leading  ministers  of  England  and  Holland. 

4  Lewis  /lie  Four  eenlh 

16* 


-o        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

5- 

The  accession  of  Savoy  to  the  Grand  Alliance  5  threatened 
his  armies  in  Italy  with  destruction.  That  of  Portugal  gave 
the  allies  a  base  of  operations  against  Spain.  His  energy 
however  rose  with  the  pressure,  and  while  the  Duke  of 
Berwick,  a  natural  son  of  James  the  Second,  was  despatched 
against  Portugal,  and  three  small  armies  closed  round  Savoy, 
the  flower  of  the  French  troops  joined  the  army  of  Bavaria 
on  the  Danube,  for  the  bold  plan  of  Lewis  was  to  decide 
the  fortunes  of  the  war  by  a  victory  which  would  wrest 
peace  from  the  Empire  under  the  walls  of  Vienna. 

The  master-stroke  of  Lewis  roused  Marlborough  at  the 
opening  of  1704  to  a  master-stroke  in  return  ;  but  the 
secrecy  and  boldness  of  the  Duke's  plans  deceived  both 
his  enemies  and  his  allies.  The  French  army  in  Flanders 
saw  in  his  march  upon  Maintz  only  a  transfer  of  the  war 
into  Elsass.  The  Dutch  were  lured  into  suffering  their 
troops  to  be  drawn  as  far  from  Flanders  as  Coblentz  by 
proposals  of  a  campaign  on  the  Moselle.  It  was  only  when 
Marlborough  crossed  the  Neckar  and  struck  through  the 
heart  of  Germany  for  the  Danube  that  the  true  aim  of  his 
operations  was  revealed.  After  struggling  through  the  hill 
country  of  Wurtemberg,  he  joined  the  Imperial  army  under 
the  Prince  of  Baden,  stormed  the  heights  of  Donauworth, 
crossed  the  Danube  and  the  Lech,  and  penetrated  into  the 
heart  of  Bavaria.  The  crisis  drew  the  two  armies  which 
were  facing  one  another  on  the  Upper  Rhine  to  the  scene. 
The  arrival  of  Marshal  Tallard  with  thirty  thousand 
French  troops  saved  the  Elector  of  Bavaria  for  the  mo- 
ment from  the  need  of  submission.  But  the  junction  of 
his  opponent,  Prince  Eugene,6  with  Marlborough,  raised 
the  contending  forces  again  to  an  equality ;  and  after  a 
few  marches  the  armies  met  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
Danube  near  the  little  town  of  Hochstadt  and  the  village 

1   The  league  of  the  states  opposed  to  Lewis  was   called  the. 
Grand  Alliance.  e  The  commander  of  the  Austrian  army. 


MARLBORI  OJGI1   A  I    BLENHEIM. 

of  Blindheira  or    Blenheim,  which  have  given  their    I 
to  the  battle. 

In  one  respect  the  struggle  which  followed  stands  aim 

unrivalled  in  history,  for  the  whole  of  the  Teutonic  race 
was  represented  in  the  strange  medley  of  Englishmen, 
Dutchmen,     Hanoverians,     Danes,     Wurtembergers     and 

Austrians   who  followed    Marlborough   and    Eugene.     The 
French  and  Bavarians  who  numbered,  like  their  opponent 
some  fifty  thousand  men,  lay  behind  a  little  stream  which 
▼an  through  swampy  ground  to  the  Danube.     The   position 
was  a  strong  one,  for  the  front  was  covered  by  the  swamp, 
its  right  by  the  Danube,  its  left  by  the  hill  country  in  which 
the  stream  rose,  and  Tallard  had  not  only  entrenched  him 
'  self,  but  was  far  superior  to  his  rival  in  artillery.     But  i   r 
once  Marlborough's  hands  were  free.    "  X  have  great  rea 
he   wrote  calmly  home,  "  to  hope  that  everything  will 
well,  for  I  have  the  pleasure  to  find  all  the  officers  willii 
to  obey  without  knowing  any  other  reason  than  that  it  is 
my   desire,   which   is   very  different  from    what    it   was    in 
Flanders,  where  I   was   obliged   to  have   the  consent  of  a 
council  of  war  for  everything  I  undertook.''     So  formidable 
were  the  obstacles,  however,  that  though  the  allies  were  in 
motion  at  sunrise  on  the  2nd  of  August,   it   was   not    till 
midday   that  Eugene,  who  commanded   on  the  right,  suc- 
ceeded in  crossing  the  stream.     The  English  foot  at  01 
forded  it  on  the  left  and  attacked  the  village  of  Blindheim 
in  which  the  bulk  of  the  French  infantry  were  entrenched, 
but  after  a  furious  struggle  the  attack  was  repulsed,  while  as 
gallant  a  resistance  at  the  other  end  of  the  line  held  En 
in  check.     The  centre,  however,  which  the  French  bib 
to  be  unassailable,  had   been  chosen  by  Mai'.  h  for 

the  chief  point  of  attack,  and  by  making  an  artifii  i.d   road 
across  the  morass  he  was  at  last  enabled   to  throw  his  1 
thousand  horsemen  on  the  French  horse  which  la\ 


54        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

by  it.  Two  desperate  charges,  which  the  Duke  headed  iv. 
person,  decided  the  day.  The  French  centre  was  flung 
back  on  the  Danube  and  forced  to  surrender.  Their  left 
fell  back  in  confusion  on  Hochstadt ;  their  right,  cooped  up 
in  Blindheim  and  cut  off  from  retreat,  became  prisoners  of 
war.  Of  the  defeated  army  only  twenty  thousand  escaped. 
Twelve  thousand  were  slain,  fourteen  thousand  were 
captured.  Germany  was  finally  freed  from  the  French,  and 
Marlborough,  who  followed  the  wreck  of  the  French  host 
in  its  flight  to  Elsass,  soon  made  himself  master  of  the 
Lower  Moselle.  But  the  loss  of  France  could  not  be 
measured  by  men  or  fortresses.  A  hundred  victories  since 
Rocroi  had  taught  the  world  to  regard  the  French  army  as 
invincible,  when  Blenheim  and  the  surrender  of  the  flower 
of  the  French  soldiery  broke  the  spell.  From  that  moment 
the  terror  of  victory  passed  to  the  side  of  the  allies,  and 
"  Malbrook "  became  a  name  of  fear  to  every  child  in 
France. 


XI. 

SIR  ROBERT  WALPOLE. 

MACAULAY. 

[The  victories  of  Marlborough  at  last  forced  France  to  aban- 
don her  schemes  of  ambition  ;  but  an  intrigue  drove  the 
great  general  from  England  till  the  death  of  Anne.  Her 
successor,  George  the  First,  was  an  Elector  of  Hanover, 
descended,  through  his  mother,  from  James  the  First, 
and  the  nearest  Protestant  heir  to  the  crown.  His  throne, 
like  that  of  his  son,  George  the  Second,  was  threatened 
by  the  Jacobites,  or  adherents  of  the  exiled  family  of 
James  the  Second.  The  son  and  grandson  of  James, 
who  were  known  as  the  Old  and  Young  Pretenders, 
both    made    fruitless    attempts   to    raise   revolts    against 


SIR  R0BER1    WALP01  i  . 

the  Hanoverian   kings.     What   i     ' 

of  the  Georges  was  the  general  content  of  the  people  with 

the  good  government  of  their  great   minister,  Sir   Robert 
Walpole.] 

Sir   Robert  Walpole  had,  undoubtedly,         I  talents 

and  great  virtues.     He  was  not  indeed  like  the  leaders  of 
the  party  which  opposed  his  government,  a  brilliant  orator. 
He  was  not  a  profound  scholar,  like  Carteret,  or  a  wit  and 
a  fine  gentleman  like  Chesterfield.     In  all  these  res] 
his  deficiencies  were  remarkable.     His  literature  consisted 
of  a  scrap  or  two  of  Horace  and  an  anecdote  or  two  from 
the  end  of  the  Dictionary.      His  knowledge  of  history 
so  limited  that,  in  the  great  debate  on  the  Excise  Bill,  he 
was  forced  to  ask  Attorney-General  Yorke  who  Empson  and 
Dudley  l  were.     His  manners  were  a  little   too  coarse- 
boisterous  even   for  that  age   of  Westerns   and  Topehalls. 
When  he  ceased  to  talk  of  politics,  he  could  talk  of  nothing 
but  women  ;  and  he  dilated  on   his  favourite  theme  with  a 
freedom  which  shocked  even  that  plain-spoken  general 
and  which  was  quite  unsuited  to  his  age  and  station.     The 
noisy  revelry  of  his   summer  festivities  at   Houghton  gave 
much  scandal  to  grave  people  and  annually  drove  his  kins- 
man and  colleague,  Lord  Townshend,  from  the  neighl 
ing  mansion  of  Rainham. 

But  however  ignorant  Walpole  might  b  era!  history 

and  of  general  literature,  he  was  better  acquainted  than 
man  of  his  day  with  what  it  concerned  him  most  to  know- 
mankind,  the  English  nation,  the  court,  the  House  i     I 
mons,  and  the  Treasury.     Of  foreign  affairs  he  knew  little  ; 
but  his  judgement  was  so  good  that  his   little  knowl< 
went  very  far.     He  was  an  excellent  parliamentary  del 
an  excellent  parliamentary  tactician,  an  excellent  mat 
business.      No   man    ever   brought   more   industry    or  more 
1  The  extortionate  ministers  of  I/<»>y  tin-  Seventh. 


56       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY 

method  to  the   transacting  of  affairs.     No  minister  in  his 
time  did  so  much  ;  yet  no  minister  had  so  much  leisure. 

He  was  a  good-natured  man,  who  had  during  thirty  years 
seen  nothing  but  the  worst  parts  of  human  nature  in  other 
men.  He  was  familiar  with  the  malice  of  kind  people,  and 
the  perfidy  of  honourable  people.  Proud  men  had  licked 
the  dust  before  him.  Patriots  -  had  begged  him  to  come  up 
to  the  price  of  their  puffed  and  advertised  integrity.  He 
said  after  his  fall  that  it  was  a  dangerous  thing  to  be  a 
minister,  that  there  were  few  minds  which  would  not  be  in- 
jured by  the  constant  spectacle  of  meanness  and  depravity. 
To  his  honour  it  must  be  confessed  that  few  minds  have 
come  out  of  such  a  trial  so  little  damaged  in  the  most  im- 
portant parts.  He  retired,  after  more  than  twenty  years  ol 
supreme  power,  with  a  temper  not  soured,  with  a  heart  not 
hardened,  with  simple  tastes,  with  frank  manners,  and  with 
a  capacity  for  friendship.  No  stain  of  treachery,  of  ingrati- 
tude, or  of  cruelty  rests  on  his  memory.  Factious  hatred,  while 
flinging  on  his  name  every  other  foul  aspersion,  was  com- 
pelled to  own  that  he  was  not  a  man  of  blood.  This  would 
scarcely  seem  a  high  eulogium  on  a  statesman  of  our  times. 
It  was  then  a  rare  and  honourable  distinction.  The  contests 
of  parties  in  England  had  long  been  carried  on  with  a 
ferocity  unworthy  of  a  civilised  people.  Sir  Robert  Walpole 
was  the  minister  who  gave  to  our  government  that  charac- 
ter of  lenity  which  it  has  since  generally  preserved.  It  was 
perfectly  known  to  him  that  many  of  his  opponents  had 
dealings  with  the  Pretender.  The  lives  of  some  were  at  his 
mercy.  He  wanted  neither  Whig  nor  Tory  precedents  for 
using  his  advantage  unsparingly.  But  with  a  clemency  to 
which  posterity  has  never  done  justice,  he  suffered  himself 
to  be  thwarted,  vilified,  and  at  last  overthrown  by  a  party 
which  included  many  men  whose  necks  were  in  his  power. 
2   The  opponents  of  Walpole  took  the  name  of  '•'■patriots." 


SIR  ROBERT  WALrOl  E 

That  he  practised  corruption8  on  a  large  seals   is,  we 
think  indisputable     But  whether  he  deserves  all  the  in 
tives  which  have  been  uttered  I  him  on  that  account 

may  be  questioned.     The  Parliament  could  not  go  on  unl 
the  Parliament  could  be  kept  in  order.      And  how  was  the 
Parliament  to  be  kept  in  order?     Three  hundred  years 
it  would  have  been  enough  for  a  statesman  to  have  the  sup- 
port of  the  crown.     It  would  now,  we  hope  and  believe,  be 
enough  for  him  to  enjoy  the  confidence  and  approbation  ol 
the  great  body  of  the  middle  class.     A  hundred  years 
it  would  not  have  been   enough   to  have   both  crown   and 
people  on  his  side.     The   Parliament  had  shaken   off  the 
control  of  the  royal  prerogative.     It  had  not  yet  fallen  under 
the  control  of  public  opinion.     A  large  proportion  of  the 
members  had  absolutely  no  motive  to  support  any  admin  is 
tuition  except  their  own  interest,  in  the  lowest  sense  of  the 
word.     Under  these   circumstances  the  country  could  bo 
governed  only  by  corruption.     Bolingbroke,   who  was  the 
ablest  and  most  vehement  of  those  who  raised  the  clan 
against  corruption  had  no  better  remedy  to  propose  than 
that  the  royal  prerogative   should  be  strengthened.     The 
remedy  would,  no  doubt,  have  been  efficient.     The  only 
question  is,  whether  it  would  not  have  been  worse  than  the 
disease.     The  fault  was  in  the  constitution  of  the  legislature  ; 
and  to  blame  those  ministers  who  managed  the  legislature 
in    the  only  way  in    which  it  could   be   managed   is  g 
injustice.     They  submitted  to  extortion  because  they  could 
not  help  themselves.     We  might  as  well  accuse  the  ; 
Lowland  farmers  who  paid  black  mail  to  Rob  R03 
rupting  the  virtue  of  the  Highlanders,  as  a<  i  use  Sir  K 
Walpole  of  corrupting  the  virtue  of  Parliament.      1 [is  ■ 
was  merely  this,   that  he  employed  Ins  money  more  dex- 
terously, and  got  more  support  in  return   for  it  I  I 
3  Bribery  of  members  of  p           <nt. 


53        PROSE  READINGS  FROM   ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

those  who  preceded  or  followed  him.  He  was  himself  in- 
corruptible by  money.  His  dominant  passion  was  the  love 
of  power ;  and  the  heaviest  charge  which  can  be  brought 
against  him  is  that  to  this  passion  he  never  scrupled  to 
sacrifice  the  interests  of  his  country. 

One  of  the  maxims,  which,  as  his  son  tells  us,  he  was 
most  in  the  habit  of  repeating,  was,  quiet  a  non  movere.*  It 
was  indeed  the  maxim  by  which  he  generally  regulated  his 
public  conduct.  It  is  the  maxim  of  a  man  more  solicitous 
to  hold  power  long  than  to  use  it  well.  It  is  remarkable 
that,  though  he  was  at  the  head  of  affairs  during  more  than 
twenty  years,  not  one  great  measure,  not  one  important 
change  for  the  better  or  for  the  worse  in  any  part  of  our 
institutions  marks  the  period  of  his  supremacy.  Nor  was 
this  because  he  did  not  clearly  see  that  many  changes  were 
very  desirable.  He  had  been  brought  up  in  the  school  of 
toleration,  at  the  feet  of  Somers  and  of  Burnet.  He  dis- 
liked the  shameful  laws  against  Dissenters.  But  he  never 
could  be  induced  to  bring  forward  a  proposition  for  repeal- 
ing them.  The  sufferers  represented  to  him  the  injusf'ce 
with  which  they  were  treated,  boasted  of  their  firm  attach- 
ment to  the  House  of  Brunswick  5  and  to  the  Whig  party, 
and  reminded  him  of  his  own  repeated  declaration  of  good 
will  to  their  cause.  He  listened,  assented,  promised,  and 
did  nothing.  At  length  the  question  was  brought  forward 
by  others,  and  the  minister  after  a  hesitating  and  evasive 
speech  voted  against  it.  The  truth  was  that  he  remembered 
to  the  latest  day  of  his  life  that  terrible  explosion  of  high- 
church  feeling  which  the  foolish  prosecution  of  a  foolish 
parson  had  occasioned  in  the  days  of  Queen  Anne.  \i 
the  Dissenters  had  been  turbulent  he  would  probably  have 
relieved  them  :  but  while  he  apprehended  no  danger  from 
them,  he  would   not  run  the  slightest  risk  for  their  sake. 

*  "  Let  things  alone?'        r'   The  line  of 'the  Hanoverian  kings. 


SIR  ROBERT  WAI  POLE. 

He  acted  in  the  same  manner  with  respect  to  other  q 
tions.     He  knew  the  state  of  the  Scotch  Highlands.     He- 
was  constantly  predicting  another  insurrection  in  tl 

of  the  empire.  Yet,  during  his  long  tenure  of  power,  he 
never  attempted  to  perform  what  was  then  the  most  obi  • 
and  pressing  duty  of  a  British  statesman,  to  break  the  power 
of  the  chiefs,  and  to  establish  the  authority  of  law  through 
the  furthest  corners  of  the  island.  Nobody  knew  better  than 
he  that,  if  this  were  not  done,  great  mischiefs  would  follow. 
He  was  content  to  meet  daily  emergencies  by  daily  expe- 
dients ;  and  he  left  the  rest  to  his  successors.  They  had 
to  conquer  the  Highlands  in  the  midst  of  a  war  with  Fra 
and  Spain,  because  he  had  not  regulated  the  Highlands  in 
a  time  of  profound  peace. 

Sometimes,  in  spite  of  all  his  caution,  he  found  that 
measures  which  he  had  hoped  to  carry  through  quietly  had 
caused  great  agitation.  When  this  was  the  case  he  gene 
rally  modified  or  withdrew  them.  It  was  thus  that  he  can- 
celled Wood's  patent  in  compliance  with  the  absurd  outcry 
of  the  Irish.  It  was  thus  that  he  frittered  away  the  Tor- 
teous  Bill0  to  nothing,  for  fear  of  exasperating  the  Scotch. 
It  was  thus  that  he  abandoned  the  Excise  Bill,  as  soon  as  he 
found  that  it  was  offensive  to  all  the  great  towns  of  England. 
The  language  which  he  held  about  that  measure  in  a  subse- 
quent session  is  strikingly  characteristic.  Pulteney  had 
insinuated  that  the  scheme  would  be  again  brought  fop.'. 
"As  to  the  wicked  scheme,"  said  Walpole,  "as  the  gentle- 
man is  pleased  to  call  it,  which  he  would  persuade  gentlemen 
is  not  yet  laid  aside,  I,  for  my  part,  assure  this  House  I  am 
not  so  mad  as  ever  again  to  engage  in  anything  that  l< 
like  an  Excise;  though  in  my  private  opinion,  I  still  think 

6  A  bill  for  inflicting  on  Edinburgh  the  punishment  .;':■•  to 
ri<ters  who  hut  murdered  Captain  PorUous  ttt 


Co       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

it  was  a  scheme  that  would  have  tended  very  much  to  the 
interest  of  the  nation." 

The  conduct  of  YValpole  with  regard  to  the  Spanish  war 7 
is  the  great  blemish  of  his  public  life.  "  Did  the  adminis- 
tration of  YValpole,"  says  his  biographer,  "  present  any  uni- 
form principle  which  may  be  traced  in  every  part,  and  which 
gave  combination  and  consistency  to  the  whole  ?  Yes,  and 
that  principle  was  The  Love  of  Peace."  It  would  be 
difficult,  we  think,  to  bestow  a  higher  eulogium  on  any 
statesman.  But  the  eulogium  is  far  too  high  for  the  merits 
of  Walpole.  The  great  ruling  principle  of  his  public  conduct 
was  indeed  a  love  of  peace,  but  not  in  the  sense  in  which 
his  biographer  uses  the  phrase.  The  peace  which  Walpole 
sought  was  not  the  peace  of  the  country,  but  the  peace  of 
his  own  administration.  During  the  greater  part  of  his 
public  life,  indeed,  the  two  objects  were  inseparably  con- 
nected. At  length  he  was  reduced  to  the  necessity  of 
choosing  between  them,  of  plunging  the  State  into  hostilities 
for  which  there  was  no  just  ground,  and  by  which  nothing 
was  to  be  got,  or  of  facing  a  violent  opposition  in  the 
country,  in  Parliament,  and  even  in  the  royal  closet.  No 
person  was  more  thoroughly  convinced  than  he  of  the 
absurdity  of  the  cry  against  Spain.  But  his  darling  power 
was  at  stake,  and  his  choice  was  soon  made.  He  pre- 
ferred an  unjust  war  to  a  stormy  session.  It  is  impossible 
to  say  of  a  minister  who  acted  thus  that  the  love  of  peace 
was  the  one  grand  principle  to  which  all  his  conduct  is  to 
be  referred.  The  governing  principle  of  his  conduct  was 
neither  love  of  peace  nor  love  of  war,  but  love  of  power. 

The  praise  to  which  he  is  fairly  entitled  is  this,  that  he 
understood  the  true  interest  of  his  country  better  than  any 

7  At  the  close  of  Walpole 's  rule  ill-will  sprang  up  between 
England  and  Spain  ;  and  Walpole,  though  conscious  of  the  i>v 
expediency  of  the  war,  yielded  to  the  popular  outcry. 


BATTLE  OF  PRESTON  PANS. 


of  his   contemporaries,   and    that   he    pursued  that   in! 
wnenever  it  was   not  incompatible  with   the   interest  of  hit 
own  intense  and  grasping  ambition. 


XII. 

BATTLE  OF  PRESTON  PANS. 
SCOTT. 

Under  Walpole  England  gradually  learned  what  freed 
really  meant.  Men  enjoyed  personal  as  well  as  politii  d 
liberty;  justice  was  fairly  administered;  while  the  1- 
peace  enabled  the  country  to  develop  new  sources  of 
commercial  and  industrial  wealth,  it  was  this  that  ren- 
dered it  deaf  to  the  call  of  the  young  Pretender,  Charles 
Edward  Stuart,  when  he  landed  in  Scotland  m  1715. 
Only  the  wild  clans  of  the  Highlands  joined  him.  lint 
their  successes  were  at  first  amazing.  The  young  Prince 
occupied  Edinburgh,  and  boldly  advanced  on  the  royal 
force  which  lay  at  Preston  Pans.  In  the  early  morning  he- 
determined  to  attack  it  by  crossing  a  morass  which  pro- 
tected its  flank.] 

The  whole  of  the  Highland   army  got  under  arms,  and 
moved  forward  with  incredible  silence  and  celerity  by  the 
path   proposed.      A  point  of    precedence  was  now  to   be 
settled,  characteristic  of  the   Highlanders.      The  tribe  of 
MacDonalds,   though    divided    into   various    families,  and 
serving  under  various  chiefs,  still  reckoned  on  their  common 
descent  from  the  great  Lords  of  the  Isles,  in  virtue  of  w 
they  claimed,  as  the  post  of  honour,  the  right  of  the  whole 
Highland  army  in  the  day  of  action.     This  was  disputed  by 
some  of  the  other  clans,  and  it  was  agreed  they  should 
lots  about  this  point  of  precedence.      Fortune  gave  it  to  the 
Camerons  and  Stewarts,   which  was  murmured  at  bj 
numerous  Clan  Colla,  the  generic  name  for  the  Ma.  I  I 


62       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

The  sagacity  of  Lochiel  induced  the  other  chiefs  to  resign  for 
the  day  a  point  on  which  they  were  likely  to  be  tenacious. 
The  precedence  was  yielded  to  the  MacDonalds  accordingly, 
and  the  first  line  of  the  Highlanders  moved  off  their  ground 
by  the  left  flank,  in  order  that  the  favoured  tribe  might  take 
the  post  of  honour. 

Anderson  guided  the  first  line.  He  found  the  pathway 
silent  and  deserted  ;  it  winded  to  the  north-east,  down  a 
sort  of  holiow,  which  at  length  brought  them  to  the  eastern 
extremity  of  the  plain,  at  the  west  end  of  which  the  regular 
army  was  stationed,  with  its  left  flank  to  the  assailants.  No 
guns  had  been  placed  to  enfilade  this  important  pass,  though 
there  was  a  deserted  embrasure  which  showed  that  the 
measure  had  been  in  contemplation ;  neither  was  there  a 
sentinel  or  patrol  to  observe  the  motions  of  the  Highlanders 
in  that  direction.  On  reaching  the  firm  ground,  the  column 
advanced  due  northward  across  the  plain,  in  order  to  take 
ground  for  wheeling  up  and  forming  line  of  battle.  The 
Prince  marched  at  the  head  of  the  second  column,  and 
close  in  the  rear  of  the  first.  The  morass  was  now  rendered 
difficult  by  the  passage  of  so  many  men.  Some  of  the 
Highlanders  sunk  knee-deep,  and  the  Prince  himself 
stumbled,  and  fell  upon  one  knee.  The  morning  was  now 
dawning,  but  a  thick  frosty  mist  still  hid  the  motions  of  the 
Highlanders.  The  sound  of  their  march  could,  however, 
no  longer  be  concealed,  and  an  alarm-gun  was  fired  as  a 
signal  for  Cope's  1  army  to  get  under  arms. 

Aware  that  the  Highlanders  had  completely  turned  his 
left  flank,  and  were  now  advancing  from  the  eastward  along  a 
level  and  open  plain,  without  interruption  of  any  kind,  Sir 
John  Cope  hastened  to  dispose  his  troops  to  receive  them. 
Though  probably  somewhat  surprised,  the  English  general 
altered  the  disposition  which  he  had  made  along  the  morass, 
1  Sir  John  Cope  commanded  the  royal  army. 


BATTLE  OF  PRESTON   PAM 

and  formed  anew,  having  the  walls  of  Pr<         | 
of  Bankton,  the  seat  of  Colonel  Gardiner,  close  in 
his  army;  his  left  flank  extended  towards  the  sea,  his  I 
rested  upon  the  morass  which  had  lately  been  in  his  front. 
His  order  of  battle  was  now  extended  from  nort'.;  nil, 

having  the  east  in  front.  In  other  respei  ts  the  disposition 
was  the  same  as  already  mentioned,  his  infantry  forming  his 
centre,  and  on  each  wing  a  regiment  of  horse.  By  some 
crowding  in  of  the  piquets,  room  enough  was  not  left  for 
Gardiner's  corps  to  make  a  full  front  upon  the  right  w 
so  that  one  squadron  was  drawn  up  in  the  rear  of  the  other. 
The  artillery  was  also  placed  before  this  regiment,  a  dis- 
position which  the  colonel  is  said  to  have  remonstrated 
against,  having  too  much  reason  to  doubt  the  steadiness  of 
the  horses,  as  well  as  of  the  men  who  composed  the  corps. 
There  was  no  attention  paid  to  his  remonstrances,  not  was 
there  time  to  change  the  disposition. 

The  Highlanders  had  no  sooner  advanced  so   far  to  the 
northward  as  to  extricate  the  rear  of  the  column  from  the 
passage  across  the  morass,  and  place   the  whole   on  i 
ground,  than  they  wheeled  to  the  left,  and  formed  a  line  of 
three  men  deep.     This  thin  long  line  they  quickly  broke  up 
into  a  number  of  small  masses  or  phalanxes,  each  according 
to  their  peculiar  tactics  containing  an  individual  clan,  which 
disposed    themselves    for    battle   in   the  manner  follow 
The   best-born  men   of  the  tribe,  who  were  also  the  In- 
armed, and  had  almost  all  targets,  threw  themselves  in  I 
of  the  regiment.     The   followers   closed  on    the   rear. 
forced    the    front   forward    by   their   weight.     Alter  a  brief 
prayer,  which  was  never  omitted,  the   bonnets  were   pulled 
over  the  brows,  the  pipers  blew  the  signal,  and  the   line  of 
clans  rushed  forward,  each  forming  a  separate  wedj 

These  preparations  were  made   with   such   despatch   on 
both  wings,  that  the  respective  aides-de-camp  of  the  Duke 


64       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

of  Perth  and  Lord  George  Murray2  met  in  the  centre,  each 
bringing  news  that  his  general  was  ready  to  charge.  The 
whole  front  line  accordingly  moved  forward,  and,  as  they  did 
so,  the  sun  broke  out,  and  the  mist  rose  from  the  ground 
like  the  curtain  of  a  theatre.  It  showed  to  the  Highlanders 
!ine  of  regular  troops  drawn  up  in  glittering  array  like  a 
complete  hedge  of  steel,  and  at  the  same  time  displayed 
to  Cope's  soldiers  the  furious  torrent,  which,  subdivided 
into  such  a  number  of  columns,  or  rather  small  masses, 
advanced  with  a  cry  which  gradually  swelled  into  a  hideous 
yell,  and  became  intermingled  with  an  irregular  but  well- 
directed  fire,  the  mountaineers  presenting  their  pieces  as 
they  ran,  dropping  them  when  discharged,  and  rushing  on 
to  close  conflict  sword  in  hand.  The  events  of  the  pre- 
ceding night  had  created  among  the  regulars  an  apprehension 
of  their  opponents,  not  usual  to  English  soldiers.  General 
Cope's  tactics  displayed  a  fear  of  the  enemy  rather  than  a 
desire  to  engage  him  :  and  now  this  dreaded  foe,  having 
selected  his  own  point  of  advantage,  was  coming  down  on 
them  in  all  his  terrors,  with  a  mode  of  attack  unusually 
furious,  and  unknown  to  modern  war. 

There  was  but  an  instant  to  think  of  these  things,  for  this 
was  almost  the  moment  of  battle.  But  such  thoughts  were 
of  a  nature  which  produce  their  effect  in  an  instant,  and 
they  added  to  the  ferocity  of  the  Highlanders,  while  they 
struck  dismay  into  their  opponents.  The  old  seamen  and 
gunners,  who  had  been  employed  to  serve  the  artillery  on 
the  right  wing,  showed  the  first  symptoms  of  panic,  and 
fled  from  the  guns  they  had  undertaken  to  work,  carrying 
with  them  the  priming  flasks.  Colonel  Whitefoord,  who 
had  joined  Cope's  army  as  a  volunteer,  fired  five  of  the 
guns  on  the  advancing  Highlanders,  and,  keeping  his  ground 
while  all  (led  around  him,  was  with  difficulty  saved  from  the 
2  Two  generals  under  Charles  Edward. 


BATT1  E  OK  1  ON    PANS. 

fury  of  the  Camerons  and  Stewarts,  who,  running  Btrai 

on  the  muzzles  of  the  cannon,  actually  stormed  the  butt 
The   regiment   of  dragoons   being   drawn    up,  as  has   1- 
s  id,  in  two  lines,  the  foremost  squadron,  under  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Whitney,  having  received  orders  to   advanc  !,  v. 
like  the  gunners,  seized  with  a  panic,  dispersed  under  the 
fire  of  the   Highlanders,   and   went   off   without    even 
attempt  to  charge,  riding  down  the  artillery  guard    in   th  ir 
flight.     The  rearmost  squadron,  commanded  by  Gardiner, 
might,  if  steady,  have   yet  altered    the  fate   of  the   day.  by 
charging  the    Highlanders  when  disordered  with  attacking 
the   guns.      Gardiner,    accordingly,    commanded    then. 
advance  and  charge,  encouraging  them  by  his  voice  and 
example  to  rush  upon  the  confused  masses  before  thi 
But  those  to  whom  he  spoke  were  themselves  disordered 
at  the  rapid  advance  of  the  enemy,  and  disturbed  by  the 
waving  of  plaids,  the  brandishing  and  gleaming  of  bi 
swords  and  battle-axes,  the  rattle  of  the  droppii  and 

the  ferocious  cry  of  the  combatants.  They  made  a  feint  to 
advance,  in  obedience  to  the  word  of  command,  but  almost 
instantly  halted,  when  first  the  rear-rank  went  off  by 
or  five  files  at  a  time,  and  then  the  front  dispersed  in  like 
manner;  none  maintaining  their  ground,  except  about  a 
score  of  determined  men,  who  were  resolved  to  stand  or 
fall  with  their  commander. 

On  Cope's  left,  the  cause  of  King  George  was  not  more 
prosperous.     Hamilton's  dragoons  receiving  a  heavy  rolling 
fire  from  the  MacDonalds  as   they  advanced,  broke   up  in 
the  same  manner,  and  almost  at  the   same  moment,  with 
Gardiner's,  and  scattering  in   every  direction,  left   the 
of  blood,  galloping  some    from    the   enemy,    some,   in    the 
recklessness  of  their   terror,  past   the   enemy,  and 
almost  through  them.     The  dispersion  was  com] 
the  disorder  irretrievable.     They  Bed  w<  .  and  south, 


66       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

and  it  was  only  the  broad  sea  which  prevented  them  from 
flying  to  the  north  also,  and  making  every  point  of  the 
compass  witness  to  their  rout. 

Meantime,   the   infantry,  though  both   their  flanks  were 
uncovered  by  the  flight  of  the  dragoons,  received  the  centre 
of  the  Highland  line  with  a  steady  and  regular  fire,  which 
cost   the    insurgents    several    men, — among    others,   James 
MacGregor,  a  son   of  the  famous   Rob  Roy,  fell,   having 
received  five  wounds,  two  of  them  from  balls  that  pierced 
through  his  body.     He  commanded  a  company  of  the  Duke 
of   Perth's  regiment,  armed   chiefly  with   the  straightened 
scythes  already  mentioned,  a  weapon   not  unlike   the   old 
English  bill.     He  was  so  little   daunted  by  his  wounds,  as 
to  raise  himself  on  his  elbow,  calling  to  his  men  to  advance 
bravely,  and  swearing  he  would  see  if  any  should  misbehave. 
In  fact,  the  first  line   of  the   Highlanders  were  not  an 
instant  checked  by  the  fire  of  the   musketry  ;  for,  charging 
with  all  the  energy  of  victory,  they  parried  the  bayonets  of 
the   soldiers  with   their  targets,  and  the   deep  clumps,   or 
masses,  into  which  the  clans  were  formed,  penetrated  and 
broke,  in  several  points,  the  extended  and  thin  lines  of  the 
regulars.      At   the    same    moment,    Lochiel   attacking   the 
infantry  on  the  left,  and  Clanranald  on  the  right  flank,  both 
exposed  by  the  flight  of  the  dragoons,  they  were  unavoidably 
and  irretrievably  routed.     It  was  now  perceived  that   Sir 
John  Cope  had  committed  an  important  error  in   drawing 
up  his  forces  in  front   of  a  high   park-wall,   which   barred 
their  escape  from  their  light-heeled  enemies.     Fortunately 
there  had  been  breaches  made  in  the  wall,  which  permitted 
some  few  soldiers  to  escape  ;  but  most  of  them  had  the 
melancholy  choice  of  death  or  submission.     A  few  fought, 
and  fell  bravely.     Colonel  Gardiner  was  in   the  act   of  en- 
couraging a   small   platoon    of   infantry,    which  continued 
firing,  when  he  was  cut  down  by  a  Highlander,  with  one  of 


WHITEFIE1.1)  AND   WESLEY. 


those  scythes  which  have  been  repeatedly  mentioned.     The 

greater  part  of  the  foot  soldiers  then  laid  down  their  arms, 
after  a  few  minutes'  resistance. 


XIII. 
WHITEFIELU  AND  WESLEY. 
GREEN. 

[His  victory  at  Preston  Pans  encouraged  Charles  Edward  to 
advance  into  England  ;  but  no  one  joined  him,  and  fall- 
ing back  on  Scotland  he  was  finally  routed  at  Culloden. 
With  his  attempt  ended  all  hope  of  overthrowing  the 
Hanoverian  throne  by  force  of  arms.  Men  began  to 
forget  Jacobitism  in  the  larger  interests  of  the  time. 
Wealth  grew  fast,  population  increased,  a  new  literature, 
sprang  up,  above  all  England  was  stirred  by  a  new  revival 
of  religion.] 

The  revival  began  in  a  small  knot  of  Oxford  stuch 
whose  revolt  against  the  re  igious  deadness  of  their  times 
6howed  itself  in  ascetic  observances,  an  enthusiastic  devo- 
tion, and  a  methodical  regularity  of  life  which  gained  them 
the  nickname  of  "Methodists."  Three  figures  detached 
themselves  from  the  group  as  soon  as,  on  its  transfer  to 
London  in  1738,  it  attracted  public  attention  by  the  fervour 
and  even  extravagance  of  its  piety;  and  each  found  his 
special  work  in  the  great  task  to  which  the  instinct  of  the 
new  movement  led  it  from  the  first,  that  of  carrying  religion 
and  morality  to  the  vast  masses  of  population  which  lay  con- 
centrated in  the  towns  or  around  the  mines  ami  colli 
of  Cornwall  and  the  north.  Whitefield,  a  servitor  of  Pern- 
broke  College,  was  above  all  the  preacher  of  the  revival. 
Speech  was  governing  English  politics  ;  and  the  religious 
power  of  speech  was  shown  when  a  dread  of  "  enthusiasm  ' 
17 


6S        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

closed  against  the  new  apostles  the  pulpits  of  the  Established 
Church,  and  forced  them  to  preach  in  the  fields.  Their 
voice  was  soon  heard  in  the  wildest  and  most  barbarous 
corners  of  the  land,  among  the  bleak  moors  of  Northumber- 
land, or  in  the  dens  of  London,  or  in  the  long  galleries 
where  the  Cornish  miner  hears  in  the  pauses  of  his  labour 
the  sobbing  of  the  sea.  Whitefield's  preaching  was  such  as 
England  had  never  heard  before,  theatrical,  extravagant, 
often  commonplace,  but  hushing  all  criticism  by  its  intense 
reality,  its  earnestness  of  belief,  its  deep  tremulous  sym- 
pathy with  the  sin  and  sorrow  of  mankind.  It  was  no 
common  enthusiast  who  could  wring  gold  from  the  close- 
fisted  Franklin  and  admiration  from  the  fastidious  Horace 
Walpole,  or  who  could  look  down  from  the  top  of  a  green 
knoll  at  Kingswood  on  twenty  thousand  colliers,  grimy  from 
the  Bristol  coal-pits,  and  see  as  he  preached  the  tears 
"  making  white  channels  down  their  blackened  cheeks." 
On  the  rough  and  ignorant  masses  to  whom  they  spoke  the 
effect  of  White'field  and  his  fellow  Methodists  was  terrible 
both  for  good  and  ill.  Their  preaching  stirred  a  passionate 
hatred  in  their  opponents.  Their  lives  were  often  in  danger, 
they  were  mobbed,  they  were  ducked,  they  were  stoned, 
they  were  smothered  with  filth.  But  the  enthusiasm  they 
aroused  was  equally  passionate.  Women  fell  down  in  con- 
vulsions ;  strong  men  were  smitten  suddenly  to  the  earth  ; 
the  preacher  was  interrupted  by  bursts  of  hysteric  laughter 
or  of  hysteric  sobbing.  All  the  phenomena  of  strong 
spiritual  excitement,  so  familiar  now,  but  at  that  time 
strange  and  unknown,  followed  on  their  sermons ;  and  the 
terrible  sense  of  a  conviction  of  sin,  a  new  dread  of  hell,  a 
new  hope  of  heaven,  took  forms  at  once  grotesque  and 
sublime,  j  Charles  Wesley,  a  Christ  Church  student,  came  to 
add  sweetness  to  this  sudden  and  startling  light.  He  was 
the  "  sweet  singer  "  of  the  movement.      His  hymns  expressed 


WHITEFIELD  AND  WES]  I 

the  fiery  conviction  of  its  converts  in  lines  so  «  li 
beautiful  that  its  more  extravagant  features  disappeared. 
The  wild  throes  of  hysteric  enthusiasm  passed  into  a 
passvon  for  hymn-singing,  and  a  new  musical  impulse  was 
aroused  in  the  people  which  gradually  changed  the  \.u  e  ol 
public  devotion  throughout  England. 

But  it  was  his  elder  brother,  John  Wesley,  who  embodied 
in  himself  not  this  or  that  side  of  the  vast  movement,  but 
the  very  movement  itself.  Even  at  Oxford,  where  he  re- 
sided as  a  Fellow  of  Lincoln,  he  had  been  looked  upon  as 
head  of  the  group  of  Methodists,  and  alter  his  return  from 
a  quixotic  mission  to  the  Indians  of  Georgia  he  again  I 
the  lead  of  the  little  society,  which  had  removed  in  the 
interval  to  London.  In  power  as  a  prea<  her  he  stood 
next  toWhitefield  ;  as  a  hymn-writer  he  stood  second  to  his 
brother,  Charles.  But  while  combining  in  some  degree  the 
excellences  of  either,  he  possessed  qualities  in  which  both 
were  utterly  deficient;  an  indefatigable  industry,  a  cool 
judgment,  a  command  over  others,  a  faculty  of  organization, 
a  singular  union  of  patience  and  moderation  with  an  im- 
perious ambition,  which  marked  him  as  a  ruler  of  men.  1 1  ■ 
had,  besides,  a  learning  and  skill  in  writing  which  no  other 
of  the  Methodists  possessed;  he  was  older  than  any  of  his 
colleagues  at  the  start  of  the  movement,  and  he  out!  d 
them  all.  His  life  indeed  from  1703  to  1791  almost  covets 
the  century,  and  the  Methodist  body  had  passed  thi 
every  phase  of  its  history  before  he  sank  into  the 
the  age  of  eighty  eight. 

It   would    have    been   impossible    for    Weslej    I 
wielded  the  power  he   did  had    he  not  shared  the  follies 
and  extravagance  as  well  as  the  enthusiasm  oi  his  d 
Throughout    his  life  his  asceticism  was   that    of  a  a 
At    times    he    lived    on    bread    only,    and    often    slepl 
the  bare  boards.      He  lived  in   a  world  of  « 


7o       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

divine  interpositions.  It  was  a  miracle  if  the  rain  stopped 
and  allowed  him  to  set  forward  on  a  journey.  It  was  a  judg- 
ment of  Heaven  if  a  hailstorm  burst  over  a  town  which  had 
been  deaf  to  his  preaching.  One  day,  he  tells  us,  when  he 
was  tired  and  his  horse  fell  lame,  "  I  thought — cannot  God 
heal  either  man  or  beast  by  any  means  or  without  any  ? — 
immediately  my  headache  ceased  and  my  horse's  lameness 
in  the  same  instant."  With  a  still  more  childish  fanaticism 
he  guided  his  conduct,  whether  in  ordinary  events  or  in  the 
great  crises  of  his  life,  by  drawing  lots  or  watching  the  par- 
ticular texts  at  which  his  Bible  opened.  But  with  all  this 
extravagance  and  superstition,  Wesley's  mind  was  essentially 
practical,  orderly,  and  conservative.  No  man  ever  stood  at 
the  head  of  a  great  revolution  whose  temper  was  so  anti- 
revolutionary.  In  his  earlier  days  the  bishops  had  been 
forced  to  rebuke  him  for  the  narrowness  and  intolerance  of 
his  churchmanship.  When  Whitefield  began  his  sermons  in 
the  fields,  Wesley  "  could  not  at  first  reconcile  himself  to 
that  strange  way."  He  condemned  and  fought  against  the 
admission  of  laymen  as  preachers  till  he  found  himself  left 
with  none  but  laymen  to  preach.  To  the  last  he  clung 
passionately  to  the  Church  of  England,  and  looked  on  the 
body  he  had  formed  as  but  a  lay  society  in  full  communion 
with  it.  He  broke  with  the  Moravians,  who  had  been  the 
earliest  friends  of  the  new  movement,  when  they  endangered 
its  safe  conduct  by  their  contempt  of  religious  forms.  He 
broke  with  Whitefield  when  the  great  preacher  plunged  into 
an  extravagant  Calvinism. 

But  the  same  practical  temper  of  mind  which  led  him  to 
reject  what  was  unmeasured,  and  to  be  the  last  to  adopt 
what  was  new.  enabled  him  at  once  to  grasp  and  organize 
the  novelties  he  adopted.  He  became  himself  the  most 
unwearied  of  field  preachers,  and  his  journal  for  half 
a   century  is   little   more  than   a  record  of  fresh  journeys 


CLIVE  AT  ARCOT.  7, 

and    fresh    sermons.       When    once  driven    to    employ    I  i\ 
helpers   in  his    ministry  he    made    their   work    a    new    and 
attractive   feature   in    his  system.       His   earlier 
only   lingered    in    a   dread    of   social    enjoyments    and 
aversion  from  the  gayer  and  sunnier  side  of  life  whim  . 
the  Methodist  movement  with  that  of  the  Puritans. 
fervour  of  his  superstition  died  down  into  the  calm  of 
his  cool  common  sense  discouraged    in  his  followers  the 
enthusiastic  outbursts  which  marked  the  opening  of  the  re- 
vival.    His  powers  were  bent  to  the  building  up  of  a  great 
religious  society  which  might  give  to  the  new  enthusiasm  a 
lasting  and  practical  form.     The  Methodists  were  grouped 
into  classes,  gathered  in  love-feasts,  purified  by  the  expulsion 
of  unworthy  members,  and  furnished  with  an  alternation  of 
settled  ministers  and  wandering  preachers;  while  the  whole 
body   was    placed   under     the    absolute   government    of   a 
Conference   of  ministers.      But  so    long    as    he   lived  the 
direction  of  the  new  religious  society  remained  with  Wesley 
alone.     "  If  by  arbitrary  power,"  he  replied  with  a  charming 
simplicity  to  objectors,  "  you  mean  a  power  which  I  exen 
simply  without  any  colleagues  therein,  this  is  certainly  true, 
but  I  see  no  hurt  in  it." 


XIV. 

CLIVE  AT  ARCOT. 

STANHOPE. 

[While  these  peaceful  changes  were  taking  place  in  England 
itself,  Englishmen  across  far-off  seas  were  beginning  to 
build  up  the  great  empire  we  now  hold  in  India.  1  nglish 
merchants  had  long  settled  on  its  coasts  :  their  settle- 
ments grew  into  independent  president  ies  :  and  the  limits 
of  thesp  widened  as  the  trader,  profited  by  the  quarrel      I 


72        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

the  neighbouring  princes.  But  this  slow  growth  was 
changed  into  a  vast  scheme  of  conquest  by  the  genius 
of  Robert  Clive.] 

The  father  of  Clive  was  a  gentleman  of  old  family,  but 
small  estate,  residing  near  Market-Drayton  in  Shropshire. 
There  Robert,  his  eldest  son,  was  born  in  1725.  From 
early  childhood  the  boy  showed  a  most  daring  and  tur- 
bulent spirit.  His  uncle  thus  writes  of  him,  even  in  his 
seventh  year  :  "  I  hope  I  have  made  a  little  further  con- 
quest over  Bob.  .  .  .  But  his  fighting,  to  which  he  is  out 
of  measure  addicted,  gives  his  temper  so  much  fierceness 
and  imperiousness  that  he  flies  out  upon  every  trifling  oc- 
casion ;  for  this  reason  I  do  what  I  can  to  suppress  the 
hero."  The  people  at  Drayton  long  remembered  how 
they  saw  young  Clive  climb  their  lofty  steeple,  and  seated 
astride  a  spout  near  the  top, — how,  on  another  occasion, 
he  flung  himself  into  the  gutter  to  form  a  dam,  and  assist 
his  playmates  in  flooding  the  cellar  of  a  shopkeeper  with 
whom  he  had  quarrelled.  At  various  schools  to  which  he 
was  afterwards  sent  he  appears  to  have  been  idle  and  in- 
tractable. Even  in  after  life  he  was  never  remarkable  for 
scholarship  ;  and  his  friendly  biographer  admits  that,  wide 
as  was  his  influence  over  the  native  tribes  of  India,  he  was 
little,  if  at  all,  acquainted  with  their  languages.  His  father 
was  soon  offended  at  his  waywardness  and  neglect  of  his 
studies,  and,  instead  of  a  profession  at  home,  obtained  for 
him  a  writership  in  the  East  India  Company's  x  service,  and 
in  the  Presidency  of  Madras.  Some  years  later,  when  the 
old  gentleman  was  informed  of  his  son's  successes  and  dis- 
tinctions, he  used  to  exclaim,  half  in  anger  and  half  in  pride, 
"  After  all  the  booby  has  sense  !  " 

The  feelings  of  Clive  during  his  first  years  at  Madras  are 

1  The  body  0/  -Merchants  who  alotte  had  the  right  to  trade 
with  India. 


CL1VI.  A  I    ARCOT. 

described  in  his  own  letters.     Thus  he  writes  to  his  cousin  : 
"I  may  safely  say  I  have  not  enjoyed  one  happj  n<  e 

I  left  my  native  country.     I  am  not  acquainted  with 
one  family  in  the  place,  and  have  not  assuran<  e  b  to 

introduce  myself  without  being  a  ked.  .  .  .  Letters  to  frit 
were  surely  first  invented  for  the  comfort  of  such  solitary 
wretches  as  myself."      There  is  no  doubt  that  the  climate 
at  Madras  was  unfavourable  to  his  health,  and  his  dul 
the  desk  ill-suited  to  his  temper.     But  worse  than  any  o 
discomfort  was  his  own  constitutional   and   morbid  m< 
choly — a  melancholy  which  may  yet  be  traced  in  the  ex| 
sion  of  his  portraits,  and   which,  afterwards  heightened  as 
it  was  by  bodily  disease  and  mental   irritation,  dosed   the 
career  of  this  great  chief,  by  the  act  of  his  own  hand,  before 
he  had  attained  the  age  of  fifty  years.   As  a  writer  at  Madras 
he  twice  one  day  snapped  a  pistol  at  his  own  head.     Find- 
ing it  miss  fire,  he  calmly  waited  until  his  room  was  enl 
by  an  acquaintance,   whom   he  requested  to  fire  the  1 
out  of  the  window.     The  gentleman  did  so,  and  the  p 
went  off.     At  this  proof  that  it  had   been  rightly  loaded, 
Clive  sprang  up,  with  the  exclamation,  "Surely  then  I  am 
reserved  for  something  !  "  and  relinquished  his  design. 

From  this  time  forward,   however,  the  undaunted  spirit 
of  Clive  found   a   nobler  scope  against  the  public  enemy. 
During  the  petty  hostilities  between  the  English  and  Fn 
traders  in   India, — when  the  merchant's  clerks  were  all 
compelled  in   self-defence  to  turn  soldiers,— the  nam       I 
Ensign  or  Lieutenant  Clive  is  often,  and   always   honour- 
ably, mentioned;  and  during  the  in  of  th< 
tilities  he  returned  to  his   ledgers  ami    accounts.      Bui 
the   emergency   produced    by   the    su<  F   Dupl 
the  siege  of  Trichinopoly,8  and   the   departure   of   M 

*  A  Frenchman  of  genius  'an  the  /• 

side,  and  resolved  to  drive  the  English  from  In  ■«.& 


74       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Lawrence,  he  accepted  a  captain's  commission,  and  bade 
adieu  to  trade.  With  no  military  education,  with  so  little 
military  experience,  this  young  man  of  twenty-five  shone 
forth,  not  only,  as  might  have  been  foreseen, — a  most 
courageous,  but  a  most  skilful  and  accomplished  com- 
mander;—  a  commander,  as  Lord  Chatham  once  ex- 
claimed, "  whose  resolution  would  charm  the  King  of 
Prussia,  and  whose  presence  of  mind  has  astonished  the 
Indies."  At  this  crisis  he  discerned  that,  although  it  was 
not  possible  to  afford  relief  to  Trichinopoly,  a  diversion 
might  still  be  effected  by  a  well-timed  surprise  of  Arcot, 
thus  compelling  Chunda  Sahib  to  send  a  large  detachment 
from  his  army.  The  heads  of  the  Presidency,  on  whom  he 
strenuously  urged  his  views,  not  only  approved  the  design, 
but  accepted  the  offer  of  his  own  services  for  its  execution. 
Accordingly,  in  August,  1 75 1,  Captain  Clive  marched  from 
Madras  at  the  head  of  only  300  Sepoys4  and  200  Europeans. 
Scanty  as  seems  this  force,  it  could  only  be  formed  by 
reducing  the  garrison  at  Fort  St.  David  to  100  and  the  gar- 
rison of  Madras  to  50  men  ;  and  of  the  eight  officers  under 
Clive,  six  had  never  before  been  in  action,  and  four  were 
merchants'  clerks,  who,  incited  by  his  example,  took  up  the 
sword  to  follow  him. 

A  few  days'  march  brought  the  little  band  within  ten 
miles  of  Arcot,  and  within  sight  of  the  outposts  of  the 
garrison.  There  a  violent  storm  of  thunder,  lightning,  and 
rain  arose,  through  which,  however,  Clive  undauntedly 
pushed  forward.  Slight  as  seems  this  incident,  it  became 
attended  with  important  results,  for  the  garrison,  apprised 
by  their  outposts  of  the  behaviour  of  the  English,  were 
seized  with  a  superstitious  panic,  as  though  their  opponents 

Sahib,   a  prince  in   alliance  with   the  French,    had   attacked 
Trichinopoly,  whose  ruler  was  on  the  side  of  the  English. 
4  Native  troops. 


CLIVE  A  I    AK.  OT. 

were  in  league  with  the  Heavens,  and  they  fled  precipe 
tately,  not  only  from  the  city,  but  from  the  citadeL  I 
Clive,  without  having  struck  a  blow,  marched  through  the 
streets  amidst  a  concourse  of  a  hundred  thousand  specta- 
tors, and  took  quiet  possession  of  the  citadel  or  furt.  In 
that  stronghold  the  Arcot  merchants  had  for  security  de 
posited  effects  to  the  value  of  50,000/.,  which  Clive  punc- 
tually restored  to  the  owners ;  and  this  politic  act  of 
honesty  conciliated  many  of  the  principal  inhabitants  to 
the  English  interest. 

Clive,  learning  that  the  fugitive  garrison  had  been  rein- 
forced, and  had  taken  post  in  the  neighbourhood,  made- 
several  sallies  against  them  ;  in  the  last  he  surprised  them 
at  night,  and  scattered  or  put  them  to  the  sword.  But  his 
principal  business  was  to  prepare  against  the  siege  which 
he  expected,  by  collecting  provisions  and  strengthening 
the  works  of  the  fort.  As  he  had  foretold,  his  appearani  e 
at  Arcot  effected  a  diversion  at  Trichinopoly.  Chunda 
Sahib  immediately  detached  4,000  men  from  his  army,  \ 
were  joined  by  2,000  natives  from  Vellore,  by  150  Euro- 
peans from  Pondicherry,5  and  by  the  remains  of  the  fugitive 
garrison.  Altogether,  the  force  thus  directed  against  Arcot 
exceeded  10,000  men,  and  was  commanded  by  Rajah  Sahib, 
a  son  of  Chunda  Sahib.  The  fort  in  which  the  1 
were  now  besieged  was,  notwithstanding  some  hasty  re| 
in  great  measure  ruinous,  with  the  parapet  low  and  slightly 
built,  with  several  of  the  towers  decayed,  with  the  ditch  in 
some  parts  fordable,  in  others  dry,  and  in  some  choked  up 
with  fallen  rubbish.  But  Clive  undauntedly  mainta. 
day  after  day,  such  feeble  bulwarks  against  such  overwhc  lin- 
ing numbers. 

After  several  weeks'  siege,  however,  the  besiegt  l  :ity 

and  ill-served  as  was  their  artillery,  had  succeeded  in  nuking 

5  The  chief  French  settL  matt  in  /< 
i  :  •- 


;6       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

more  than  one  practicable  breach  in  the  walls.  Some  sue 
cour  to  the  garrison  was  attempted  from  Madras,  but  in  vain. 
Another  resource,  however,  remained  to  Clive.  He  found 
means  to  despatch  a  messenger  through  the  enemy's  lines 
to  Morari  Row,  a  Mahratta  chieftain,  who  had  received  a 
subsidy  to  assist  Mahomed  Ali,  and  who  lay  encamped 
with  6,000  men  on  the  hills  of  Mysore.  Hitherto,  notwith- 
standing his  subsidy,  he  had  kept  aloof  from  the  contest. 
But  the  news  how  bravely  Arcot  was  defended  fixed  his 
wavering  mind.  "  I  never  thought  till  now,"  said  he,  "  that 
the  English  could  fight.  Since  they  can  I  will  help  them." 
And  accordingly  he  sent  down  a  detachment  of  his  troops 
from  the  hills. 

Rajah  Sahib,  when  he  learnt  that  the  Mahrattas  were 
approaching,  perceived  that  he  had  no  time  to  lose.  He 
sent  a  flag  of  truce  to  the  garrison,  promising  a  large  sum 
of  money  if  Clive  would  surrender,  and  denouncing  instant 
death  if  Clive  awaited  a  storm ;  but  he  found  his  offers  and 
his  threats  received  with  equal  disdain.  Exasperated  at  the 
scornful  answer,  he  made  every  preparation  for  a  desperate 
attack  on  the  morrow.  It  was  the  14th  of  November,  the 
fiftieth  day  of  the  siege,  and  the  anniversary  of  the  festival  in 
commemoration  of  that  martyr  of  early  Islam,  Hosein,  when 
according  to  the  creed  of  the  Mahometans  of  India,  any 
one  who  falls  in  battle  against  unbelievers  is  wafted  at  once 
into  the  highest  region  of  Paradise.  But,  not  solely  trusting 
to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  day,  Rajah  Sahib  had  recourse, 
moreover,  to  the  excitement  of  bang,  an  intoxicating  drug, 
with  which  he  plentifully  supplied  his  soldiers.  Before  day- 
break they  came  on  every  side  rushing  furiously  up  to  the 
assault.  Besides  the  breaches  which  they  expected  to  storm, 
they  had  hopes  to  break  open  the  gates  by  urging  forwards 
several  elephants  with  plates  of  iron  fixed  to  their  fore- 
heads ;  but  the  huge  animals,  galled  by  the  English  musketry 


WO]   I   1.    A  1     «  M    l.l'.l  I 

as  of  yore  by  the  Roman  javelins,  soon    turned,  and   t- 
pled  down  the  multitudes  around  them.     Opposite  one    f 

the  breaches   where    the    water  of  the  ditch  v. 
another  party  of  the  enemy  had  launched  a  raft  with 
men  upon  it,  and  began  to  cross.     In  this  emergi  n<  y  <  live, 
observing  that  his  gunners  fired  with  bad  aim,  took  hin 
the  management  of  one  of  the  field-pieces  with  so  much 
effect  that  in  three  or  four  discharges  he  had  upset  tin 
and  drowned  the  men.     Throughout  the  day  his  valour  and 
his  skill  were  equally  conspicuous,  and   every  assault  ot   his 
opponents  was  repulsed  with  heavy  loss.     In  the  first  part 
of  the  night  their  fire  was  renewed,  but  at  two  in  the  ra 
ing  it  ceased,  and  at  the  return  of  daylight  it  appeared 
they  had  raised  the  siege,   and   were  already  out  of  sight, 
leaving   400    men    dead   upon    the    ground,  with   all   their 
ammunition  and  artillery. 


XV. 
WOLFE  AT  QUEBEC. 

BANCROFT. 

I  While  England  was  thus  wresting  the  supremacy  over  India 
from  the  French,  she  was  struggling  with  them  across  the 
the  Atlantic    for   the   possession    of   America       1 
colonies  had  grown  up  since   Elizabeth's  day  along  its 
eastern  coast,  and  were  fast  becoming  powerful  and 
lous  states.     But  France  had  seized  the  line  of  the 
Lawrence,  and  pushed   her  settlements  along  the 
lakes  and  the  Mississipi  to  the  se  l     She  thus  thn 
to   cut   off   the    British    colonies   from   the   great    1 
plains,  and  to  prison    them  to   the  eastern  coast       I 
war  which  broke  out  between   France  and  England  • 
thus  a  contest  which  settled  the  future  of  America.     Its 
issue  decided  that  Englishmen  and  not  Frenchmen  * 


73        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

to  colonize  and  rule  the  great  continent  of  the  west 
The  struggle  turned  on  the  possession  of  Canada  anci 
its  capital,  Quebec.  General  Wolfe  sailed  up  the  St. 
Lawrence  to  besiege  the  town  ;  but  he  was  long  unable 
to  force  a  landing,  and  the  army  was  almost  in  despair 
when  he  won  the  victory  of  Quebec] 

Summer,  which  in  that  climate  hurries  through  the  sky, 
was  over,  and  the  British  fleet  must  soon  withdraw  from  the 
river.  "  My  constitution,"  wrote  the  General1  to  Holdernesse, 
on  the  9th,  just  four  days  before  his  death,  "is  entirely 
ruined,  without  the  consolation  of  having  done  any  consider- 
able service  to  the  state,  and  without  any  prospect  of  it." 

But,  in  the  meantime,  Wolfe  applied  himself  intently  to 
reconnoitring  the  north  shore  above  Quebec.  Nature  had 
given  him  good  eyes,  as  well  as  a  warmth  of  temper  to 
follow  first  impressions.  He  himself  discovered  the  cove 
which  now  bears  his  name,  where  the  bending  promontories 
almost  form  a  basin,  with  a  very  narrow  margin,  over  which 
the  hill  rises  precipitously.  He  saw  the  path  that  wound 
up  the  steep,  though  so  narrow  that  two  men  could  hardly 
march  in  it  abreast;  and  he  knew,  by  the  number  of  tents 
which  he  counted  on  the  summit,  that  the  Canadian  post 
which  guarded  it  could  not  exceed  a  hundred.  Here  he  re- 
solved to  land  his  army  by  surprise.  To  mislead  the  enemy, 
his  troops  were  kept  far  above  the  town ;  while  Saunders,  as 
if  an  attack  was  intended  at  Beauport,  set  Cook,  the  great 
mariner,  with  others,  to  sound  the  water  and  plant  buoys 
along  that  shore. 

The  day  and  night  of  the  twelfth  were  employed  in 
preparations.  The  autumn  evening  was  bright ;  and  the 
General,  under  the  clear  starlight,  visited  his  stations,  to 
make  his  final  inspection  and  utter  his  last  words  of  en- 
couragement.    As  he  passed  from  ship  to  ship,  he  spoke  to 

1   Wolfe. 


WOLFE  AT  QUI  Bl  «  . 

these  in  the  boat  with  him  of  the  poet  <  rray,  and  the  "  I  I 

in  a  Country  Churchyard."      "  I.'       id  h   .    "  would   prd  r 
being  the  author  of  that  poem   to  the  glory  of  beal 
French  to-morrow:  "  and,  while  the  oars  struck  the 
it  rippled  in  the  silence  of  the  night  air  under  the  ilou 
tide,  he  repeated :  — 

*  The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  ^avc, 
Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour, 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave." 

Every   officer  knew   his   appointed   duty-,  when,  at  one 
o'clock    in     the    morning    of    the     13th    of    September, 
Wolfe,  Monckton,  and  Murray,  and  about  half  the  for 
set  off  in  boats,  and,  using  neither  sail  nor  oars,  glided  down 
with  the  tide.     In  three  quarters  of  an  hour  the  ships  fol- 
lowed ;  and,  though  the  night  had  become  dark,  aided  by 
the  rapid  current,  they  reached  the  cove  just  in  time  too 
the  landing.     Wolfe  and    the   troops  with  him  leaped   on 
shore;  the  light  infantry,  who  found  themselves  borne  by 
the  current  a  little  below  the  intrenched  path,  clambered  up 
the  steep  hill,  staying  themselves  by  the  roots  and  bougl 
the  maple  and  spruce  and  ash  trees  that  covered  the  preci- 
pitous declivity,  and,  after  a  little  firing,  dispersed  the  pi 
which  guarded  the  height;  the  rest  ascended  safely  bj 
pathway.     A  battery  of  four  guns  on  the  left  was  abandi      • 
to  Colonel  Howe.  When  Townshend's  division  disembarked, 
the  English  had  already  gained  one  of  the  roads  to  Q 
and,  advancing  in  front  of  the  fol     '.  Wolfe  stood  at  1 
break   with    his     invincible     battalions     on    the     Plaii 
Abraham,  the  battle-field  of  the  Celtic  and  Saxon  -' 

"  It  can  be  but  a  small  party,  come  to  hum  a  few  hou 
and  retire,"  said  Montcalm,3  in  amazement,    as  the    1 

2  i.e.  the  French  and  English.  3  The  Fn 


So       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

reached  him  in  his  intrenchments  on  the  other  side  of  the 
St.  Charles ;  but,  obtaining  better  information,  "  Then," 
he  cried,  "  they  have  at  last  got  to  the  weak  side  of  this 
miserable  garrison  ;  we  must  give  battle  and  crush  them  before 
mid-day."  And,  before  ten,  the  two  armies,  equal  in  num- 
bers, each  being  composed  of  less  than  five  thousand  men, 
were  ranged  in  presence  of  one  another  for  battle.  The 
English,  not  easily  accessible  from  intervening  shallow  ra- 
vines and  rail-fences,  were  all  regulars,  perfect  in  discipline, 
terrible  in  their  fearless  enthusiasm,  thrilling  with  pride  at 
their  morning's  success,  commanded  by  a  man  whom  they 
obeyed  with  confidence  and  love.  The  doomed  and  devoted 
Montcalm  had  what  Wolfe  had  called  but  "  five  weak  French 
battalions,"  of  less  than  two  thousand  men,  "  mingled  with 
disorderly  peasantry,"  formed  on  commanding  ground.  The 
French  had  three  little  pieces  of  artillery;  the  English  one 
or  two.  The  two  armies  cannonaded  each  other  for  nearly  an 
hour  ;  when  Montcalm,  having  summoned  De  Bougainville  to 
his  aid,  and  despatched  messenger  after  messenger  for  Do 
Vaudreuil,  who  had  fifteen  hundred  men  at  the  camp,  to 
come  up  before  he  should  be  driven  from  the  ground,  en- 
deavoured to  flank  the  British  and  crowd  them  down  the 
high  bank  of  the  river.  Wolfe  counteracted  the  movement 
by  detaching  Townsend  with  Amherst's  regiment,  and  after- 
wards a  part  of  the  royal  Americans,  who  formed  on  the 
left  with  a  double  front. 

Waiting  no  longer  for  more  troops,  Montcalm  led  the 
French  army  impetuously  to  the  attack.  The  ill-disciplined 
companies  broke  by  their  precipitation  and  the  unevenness 
of  the  ground  ;  and  fired  by  platoons,  without  unity.  Their 
adversaries,  especially  the  forty-third  and  the  forty-seventh, 
where  Monckton  stood,  of  which  three  men  out  of  four 
were  Americans,  received  the  shock  with  calmness  ;  and 
after  having,  at  Wolfe's  command,  reserved  their  fire  till  their 


WOLFE  AT  QUEB] 

enemy   was  within  forty  yards,  their   line  I  ir, 

rapid,    and   exact  discharge  of  musketry. 
present  everywhere,  braving  danger,  wounded,  !■  ' 
by  his  example.     The  second  in  command,  1  > 
an  associate  in  glory  at  Ticonderog  I  illed.      The  bi 

but  untried  Canadians,  flinching  from  a  hot  fire   in  the  open 
field,  began  to  waver;  anil,  so  soon  os  Wolfe,  placing  him- 
self at  the  head  of  the  twenty-eighth   and   the  Louis! 
grenadiers,   charged    with    bayonets,  the)'   everywhere 
way.       Of   the    English  officers,    Carleton    was    wound 
Barre',  who  fought  near  Wolfe,  received  in  the  head   a 
which  made  him  blind  of  one  eye,  and  ultimately  of  both. 
Wolfe,  also,  as  he  led  the  charge,  was  wounded  in  the  \sr, 
but,  still  pressing  forward,  he  received  a  second  ball;  and, 
having  decided  the  day.  was  struck  a  third  time,  and   m 
tally,  in  the  breast.     "Support  me,"  he  cried  to  an 
near  him  ;  "let   not   my  brave  fellows  see  me  drop."     II  ■ 
was  carried  to   the    rear,  and   they   brought   him   water 
quench  his  thirst.     "  They  run  !  they  run  '.  "  spoke  the  of: 
on  whom  he  leaned.     "Who  run  ?  "  asked  Wolfe,  as  his  life- 
was  fast  ebbing.      '-The  French,"' replied  the  office-, 
way  everywhere."     "What,"  cried   the   expiring  he 
they  run   already?      Go,   one   of  you,  to   Colonel    bur: 
bid  him  march  Webb's  regiment  with  all  speed  to  Ch 
River  to  cut  off  the  fugitives."     Four  days  before,  he- 
looked  forward  to  early  death  with  dismay.         '  ■<!  1 
praised,  I  die  happy."     These  were  his  woi 
escaped  in  the  blaze  of  his  glory.      N- 
ing  tide,  veteran  discipline,  the  sure   in 
had   been   his  allies;  his  battle-field,  high   over  th< 
river,    was   the  grandest   theatre   for  illustrious 
victory,  one  of  the  most  momentous  in  the  an 
kind,  gave  to  the  English  tongue  and  I           titutions  of  the 
Cermanic  race  the  unexplored  and  seemingly  infin 


82       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

and  north.  He  crowded  into  a  few  hours  actions  that 
would  have  given  lustre  to  length  of  life  ;  and,  filling  his  day 
with  greatness,  completed  it  before  its  noon. 


XVI. 

BUNKER'S  HILL. 

BANCROFT. 

[The  victory  was  followed  by  a  peace,  in  which  France 
withdrew  from  every  part  of  America  save  the  mouth  of 
the  Mississippi,  and  the  great  continent  was  left  to  the 
possession  of  Englishmen.  But  the  triumph  was  soon 
followed  by  a  terrible  struggle.  The  English  colonies 
felt  that  the  time  was  come  when  they  could  govern 
themselves ;  while  England  unwisely  resolved  to  hold 
them  under  her  rule.  War  broke  out ;  and  the  British 
soldiers  at  first  made  light  of  the  untrained  volunteers 
from  the  colonies.  But  the  Americans  soon  showed  that 
they  too  were  of  English  blood  and  English  courage  ; 
and,  advancing  to  besiege  Boston,  they  encountered  a 
sally  of  the  British  army  from  that  town  on  the  heights  of 
Bunker's  Hill.  They  succeeded  in  repulsing  it ;  and  from 
that  moment  it  became  impossible  to  conquer  America.] 

Of  the  two  columns  which  were  put  in  motion,1  the  one 
was  led  by  Pigot  against  the  redoubt ;  the  other  by  Howe 
himself2  against  the  flank,  which  seemed  protected  by 
nothing  but  a  fence  of  rails  and  hay  easy  to  be  scrambled 
over,  when  the  left  of  Prescott 3  would  be  turned,  and  he 
would  be  forced  to  surrender  on  finding  the  enemy  in  his 
rear. 

1  The  British  columns,  who  were  attacking  the  entrench- 
ments of  the  colonists  on  Bunker's  Hill.  2  General  Howe, 
commanded  the  British  forces.  3  The  commander  of  Hit 
Americans  on  Bunker's  I  'ill. 


HUNK  KI;'S  HILL. 

As    they    began    to    march,    the    dazzling    lustre    of    a 
summer's  sun  was  reflected  from   their  burnished  armour; 
the  battery  on   Copp's  Hill,  from  which  Clinton  and   i 
goyne4  were  watching  every  movement,  kept  up  an  in 

fire,  which  was  seconded    by  the  Falcon   and  the    Li 
the  Somerset,  and  the  two  floating  batteries  ;    the  town  of 
Charlestown,  consisting  of  five  hundred   edifices  <>(  \\ 
burst  into  a  blaze,    and  the   steeple   of    its  only  church 
became  a  pyramid  of  fire.     All  the  while   the  masts  of  the 
shipping,  and  the  heights  of  the  British   camp,  the  church 
towers,  the  house-tops  of  a  populous  town,6  and  the  acclivi- 
ties of  the  surrounding  country  were  crowded  with  spectal 
to  watch  the  battle  which  was  to  take  place,  in  full  sight  on 
a  conspicuous  eminence  ;  and  which,  as  the  English  tho 
was  to  assure  the  integrity  of  the  British  empire  ;  as  the 
Americans   believed,    was    to    influence    the    freedom    and 
happiness  of  mankind. 

As  soon  as  Prescott   perceived   that  the  enemy  were  in 
motion,  he  commanded  Robinson,  his  Lieutenant-Colonel, 
the  same  who  conducted  himself  so  bravely  in  the  fight  at 
Concord,  and  Henry  Woods,  his  Major,  famed  in  the  vill 
of  Middlesex  for  ability  and  patriotism,  with  separate  de- 
tachments to    flank   the    enemy;    and    they   executed    his 
orders  with  prudence  and  daring.     He  then  went  through 
the  works   to   encourage   and   animate   his   inexperii  I 
soldiers.     "The  red-coats  will   never  reach   the  redoubt." 
such  were  his  words,  as  he  himself  used   to  narrate  t 
"if  you  will  but  withhold  your  fire  till  I  give  the  order. 
be  careful  not  to  shoot  over  their  heads.'1     After  this  round, 
he  took  his  post  in  the  redoubt,  well  satisfied  that    the  men 
would  do  their  duty. 

The  British  advanced  in  line  in  good   order,  si 
slowly,  and  with  a  confident,  imposing  air,  pausu   j 
4   Two  English  Generals. 


84        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH   HISTORV. 

march  to  let  their  artillery  prepare  the  way,  and  firing  with 
muskets  as  they  advanced.  Cut  they  fired  too  soon  and 
too  high,  doing  but  little  injury. 

Incumbered  with  their  knapsacks,  they  ascended  the 
steep  hill  with  difficulty,  covered  as  it  was  with  grass  reach- 
ing to  their  knees,  and  intersected  with  walls  and  fences. 
Prescott  waited  till  the  enemy  had  approached  within  eight 
rods  as  he  afterwards  thought,  within  ten  or  twelve  rods  as 
the  committee  of  safety  of  Massachusetts  wrote,  when  he 
gave  the  word  "  Fire  I  "  At  once,  from  the  redoubt  and 
breastwork,  every  gun  was  discharged.  Nearly  the  whole 
front  rank  of  the  enemy  fell,  and  the  rest,  to  whom  this 
determined  resistance  was  unexpected,  were  brought  to  a 
stand.  For  a  few  minutes,  fifteen  or  ten, — who  can  count 
such  minutes  ! — each  one  of  the  Americans,  completely 
covered  whilst  he  loaded  his  musket,  exposed  only 
while  he  stood  upon  the  wooden  platform  or  steps  of 
earth  in  the  redoubt  to  take  aim,  fought  according  to 
his  own  judgment  and  will  ;  and  a  close  and  unremitting 
fire  was  continued  and  returned,  till  the  British  staggered, 
wavered,  and  then  in  disordered  masses  retreated  pre- 
cipitately to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  some  even  to 
their  boats. 

The  column  of  the  enemy,  which  advanced  near  the 
Mystic  under  the  lead  of  Howe,  moved  gallantly  forward 
against  the  rail-fence,  and,  when  within  eighty  or  one 
hundred  yards,  displayed  into  line  with  the  precision  of 
troops  on  parade.  Here,  too,  the  Americans,  commanded 
by  Stark  and  Knowlton,  cheered  on  by  Putnam,  who  like 
Prescott  bade  them  reserve  their  fire,  restrained  themselves 
as  if  by  universal  consent,  till  at  the  proper  moment,  resting 
their  guns  on  the  rails  of  the  fence,  they  poured  forth  a 
deliberate,  well-directed,  fatal  discharge ;  here,  too,  the 
British  recoiled  from   the  volley,  and  after  a  short  contest 


BUNKER'S  III!  I 


were  thrown  into  confu  unded  a  retreat, 

till  they  were  covered  by  the  ground. 

Then  followed  moments  ol    joy   in    that   unfmisl 
doubt,  and  behind  the  ramp.n-t,  when 

husbandmen,    so    often    taunted     .villi    cowardice, 
veteran  battalions  shrink   before  their  arms.     Their  he 
bounded  as  they  congratulated  each   other.      The    night- 
watches,  thirst,  hunger,  danger,  whether  of  captivity  or  d< 
were  forgotten.     They  promised  themselves  victory. 

As  the  British  soldiers  retreated,  the  officers  were  seen  by 
the  spectators  on  the  opposite  shore,  running  down  to  them, 
using  passionate  gestures,  and   pushing  them  forward  with 
their  swords.     After  an  interval  of  about  fifteen  tnim 
■luring  which   Prescott   moved  round  among   his  men,  en- 
couraging them  and  cheering  them  with   praise,  the   British 
■  column    under  Pigot    rallied    and    advanced,    though    with 
apparent  reluctance,  in  the  same  order  as  before,  tiring 
they  approached  within  musket-shot.     This  time  the  Aimu- 
3  withheld  their   fire  till  the  enemy  were  within  six  or 
live  rods  of  the  redoubt,   when,  as  the  order  was  given,  it 
seemed  more  fatal  than   before.     The  enemy  continued  to 
discharge    their    guns,    and     pressed    forward    with    spirit 
"  But  from  the  whole  American  line  there  was,"  said  1 
cott,  "a  continuous  stream  of  fire  ;"  and  though  th< 
officers  exposed  themselves  fearlessly,  remonstrating,  th 
ening,  and  even  striking  the  soldiers  to   urge  them  on,  they 
could  not  reach  the  redoubt,  but  in  a  few  moments 
way   in  greater  disorder  than   before.     The     ■ 
the  dead  covered  the  ground  in  front  of  the  « 
lying  within  a  few  yards  of  them. 

On  the  flank  also,  the  British  light  infantry  again  mar 
up   its  companies  against  the  grass  fence,   Im- 
penetrate it.     "  Indeed,"  wrote  some  of  the  sun 
could  we  penetrate  it  ?     Most  of  our  gren  ■ 


86        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

infantry,  the  moment  of  presenting  themselves,  lost  three- 
fourths,  and  many  nine-tenths  of  their  men.  Some  had 
only  eight  or  nine  men  in  a  company  left,  some  only  three, 
four,  or  five."  On  the  ground  where  but  the  day  before 
the  mowers  had  swung  the  scythe  in  peace,  "  the  dead," 
relates  Stark,  "  lay  as  thick  as  sheep  in  a  fold."  Howe  for 
a  few  seconds  was  left  nearly  alone,  so  many  of  the  officers 
about  him  having  been  killed  or  wounded ;  and  it  required 
the  utmost  exertion  of  all,  from  the  generals  down  to  the 
subalterns,  to  repair  the  rout.  Rails  which  the  British  had 
clambered  over  were  found  the  next  day  studded  with 
marks  of  musket-balls  not  a  hand's-breadth  apart  ;  and 
officers,  who  had  served  in  the  most  remarkable  actions  of 
the  last  war,  declared  that  for  the  time  it  lasted  it  was  the 
hottest -engagement  they  ever  knew. 

At  intervals,  the  artillery  from  the  ships  and  batteries 
was  playing,  while  the  flames  were  rising  over  the  town  of 
Charlestown,  and  laying  waste  the  places  of  the  graves  of 
its  fathers,  and  streets  were  falling  together,  and  ships  at 
the  yards  were  crashing  on  the  stocks,  and  the  kindred  of 
the  Americans,  from  the  fields  and  hills  and  house-tops 
around,  watched  every  gallant  act  of  their  defenders. 


XVII 

WATT. 

SMILES. 

The  colonies  at  last  succeeded  in  forcing  England  to  re- 
r  cognise  their  independence,  and  became  the  United 
States  of  America.  Terrible  as  the  struggle  had  been, 
England  had  been  growing  richer  and  greater  during  its 
course,  through  the  vast  developement  of  her  industries. 
This  was  owing  partly  to  the  improvement  of  her  roads 


WAIT. 

and  the  introduction  of  canals,  but  mainly  to  tin  r\ 

of  the  steam-engine  by  Watt     Watt  was  a  m< 

of  Glasgow,  whose  inventive  faculty  turned  itself  to  im- 

prove  the  rude  machines  in  which  steam  had  till  dow  been 

used  as  a   motive  power.      He   was   lung   foiled   in   his 

efforts.] 

Watt  continued  to  pursue  his  studies  as  befon  .     Tho 
still  occupied  with  his  inquiries  and  experiments  as  to  Steam, 
he  did  not  neglect  his  proper  business,  but  was  constantly 
on  the  look-out  for  improvements  in  instrument  ;  A 

machine    which    he    invented    for  drawing   in    i  rive 

proved  a  success ;  and  he  made  a  considerable  number  of 
them  to  order,  for  customers  in  London  as  well  as  abroad. 
He  was  also  an  indefatigable  reader,  and  continued  t<> 
extend  his  knowledge  of  chemistry  and  mechanics  by 
perusal  of  the  best  books  on  these  scien< 

Above  all  other  subjects,  however,  the  improvement  ot 
the  steam-engine  continued  to  keep  the  fastest   hold  u] 
his  mind.     He  still  brooded' over  his  experiments  with  the 
Newcomen  model,1  but  did  not  seem  to  make  much  way  in 
introducing  any  practical  improvement  in  its  mode  of  work- 
ing.    His  friend  Robison  says  he  struggled   long  to    i 
dense  with  sufficient  rapidity  without  injection,  trying  one 
expedient  after  another,  finding  out  what  would  do  by  what 
would  not  do,  and  exhibiting  many  beautiful   specimens  ol 
ingenuity  and  fertility  of  resource.     He  continued,  to  use 
his  own  words,  "to  grope  in  the  dark,  misled  by  many  an 
ignis  fatuus."     It  was  a  favourite  saying  of  his,  thai  M  Nature 
has  a  weak  side,  if  we  can  only  find  it  out  ;"  and  he  n 
on    groping  and   feeling  for    it,    but  as   yet   in   vain. 
length  light  burst  upon  him,  and  all  at  once   the    ;■ 
over  which  he  had  been  brooding  was  solved. 

1  A   machine  constructed  by  NtWCOOten  was  as  yti  tfu  moil 
successful  in  using  the  power  of  steam. 


S3        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

One  Sunday  afternoon,  in  the  spring  of  1765,  he  went 
to  take  an  afternoon  walk  on  the  Green,  then  a  quiet, 
grassy  meadow,  used  as  a  bleaching  and  grazing  ground. 
On  week-days  the  Glasgow  lasses  came  thither  with  their 
largest  kail-pots,  to  boil  their  clothes  in  ;  and  sturdy  queans 
might  be  seen,  with  coats  kilted,  tramping  blankets  in  their 
tubs.  On  Sundays  the  place  was  comparatively  deserted, 
and  hence  Watt  went  thither  to  take  a  quiet  afternoon's 
stroll.  His  thoughts  were  as  usual  running  on  the  subject 
of  his  unsatisfactory  experiments  with  the  Newcomen 
engine,  when  the  first  idea  of  the  separate  condenser  suddenly 
11  ashed  upon  his  mind.  But  the  notable  discovery  is  best 
told  in  his  own  words,  as  related  to  Mr.  Robert  Hart,  many 
years  after : — 

"  I  had  gone  to  take  a  walk  on  a  fine  Sabbath  afternoon. 
I  had  entered  the  Green  by  the  gate  at  the  foot  of  Char- 
lotte Street,  and  had  passed  the  old  washing-house.  I  was 
thinking  upon  the  engine  at  the  time,  and  had  gone  as  far 
as  the  herd's  house,  when  the  idea  came  into  my  mind 
that  as  steam  was  an  elastic  body  it  would  rush  into  a 
vacuum,  and  if  a  communication  were  made  between  the 
cylinder  and  an  exhausted  vessel,2  it  would  rush  into  it, 
and  might  be  there  condensed  without  cooling  the  cylin- 
der.3 I  then  saw  that  I  must  get  rid  of  the  condensed 
steam  and  injection-water  if  I  used  a  jet,  as  in  Newcomen's 
engine.  Two  ways  of  doing  this  occurred  to  me.  First,  the 
water  might  be  run  off  by  a  descending  pipe,  if  an  off-let 
could  be  got  at  the  depth  of  35  or  36  feet,  and  any  air 
might 'be  extracted  by  a  small  pump.     The  second  was  to 

a  A  vessel  from  which  the  air  it  contained  had  been  exhausted. 

3  The  chief  difficulty  in  the  way  of  usitig  steam  had  arisen 
from  the  practice  of  condensing  it  by  aft  i?tjection  of  cold  water 
into  (he  cylinder  when  it  had  forced  the  piston  upiuards.  This 
cooled  the  cylinder,  and  consequefitly  a  greater  amount  of  steam 
was  needed  to  force  the  piston  up  again. 


WA  IT. 

make  the  pump  largeenough  to  extract  both  wal  ur." 

He  continued:  "I  had  not  further  than  the  I 

House  when  the  whole  thii  arranged  in  my  mind." 

Great  and  prolific  ideas  are  almost  always  simple.      What 
seems  impossible  at  the  outset  appears  so  obvious  when  it 
is  effected  that  we  are  prone  to  marvel  that  it  did  nol   I 
itself  at  once  upon  the  mind.     Late  in   life  Watt,  with  his 
accustomed   modesty,   declared    his  belief   that  if   he  had 
excelled,  it  had  been  by  chance  and  the  neglect  of  oil 
To  Professor  Jardine  he  said   "  that  when   it  was  anal 
the  invention  would  not  appear  so  great  as  it  seemed  to  be. 
In  the  state,"  said  he,  "  in  which  I  found  the 
it  was  no  great  effort  of  mind  to  observe  that  the  quantity 
of  fuel  necessary  to  make  it  work  would  for  ever  prevent  its 
extensive  utility.    The  next  step  in  my  progress  v  ally 

easy — to  inquire  what  was  the  cause  of  the  great  consump- 
tion of  fuel  :  this,  too,  was  readily  suggested,  viz  ,  the 
of  fuel  which   was   necessary  to   bring  the  whole  cylind 
piston,  and  adjacent  parts  from  the  coldness  of  water  to  the 
heat  of  steam,  no  fewer  than  from  fifteen  to  twenty  times  in 
a  minute."     The  question  then  occurred,  How  was  this 
be  avoided  or  remedied?     It  was  at  this  stage  that  the  i 
of  carrying  on  the  condensation  in  a  separate  vessel  Hashed 
upon  his  mind  and  solved  the  difficulty. 

Mankind  has  been  more  just   to   Watt    than   he   v. 
himself.     There  was  no  accident  in  the  discovery.      I 
the  result  of  close  and  continuous   study  ;  and  the 
the  separate  condenser  was  merely  the  last  step  of  a 
journey — a  step  which  could  not  have  been  taken   i 
the  road  which  led  to  it  had   been  carefully  and  tho 
fully  traversed.    Dr.  Black  says,  "This  capital  impi    ■ 
flashed  upon  his  mind  at  once,  and  filled  him  with  rapture;" 
a   statement   which,  spite    of  the    unim]  l    d    natUl 

Watt,  v  e  can  readily  believe. 


qo        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

But,  although  the  invention  was  complete  in  Watt's  mind, 
it  took  him  many  long  and  laborious  years  to  work  out  the 
details  of  the  engine.  His  friend  Robison,  with  whom  his 
intimacy  was  maintained  during  these  interesting  experi- 
ments, has  given  a  graphic  account  of  the  difficulties  which 
he  successively  encountered  and  overcame.  He  relates 
that  on  his  return  from  the  country,  after  the  College 
vacation  in  1765,  he  went  to  have  a  chat  with  Watt,  and 
communicate  to  him  some  observations  he  had  made  on 
Desaguliers'  and  Belidor's  account  of  the  steam-engine.  He 
went  straight  into  the  parlour  without  ceremony,  and  found 
Watt  sitting  before  the  fire,  looking  at  a  little  tin  cistern 
which  he  had  on  his  knee.  Robison  immediately  started 
the  conversation  about  steam,  his  mind,  like  Watt's,  being 
occupied  with  the  means  of  avoiding  the  excessive  waste  of 
heat  in  the  Newcomen  engine.  Watt,  all  the  while,  kept 
looking  into  the  fire,  and  after  a  time  laid  down  the  cistern 
at  the  foot  of  his  chair,  saying  nothing.  It  seems  that  Watt 
felt  rather  nettled  at  Robison  having  communicated  to  a 
mechanic  of  the  town  a  contrivance  which  he  had  hit  upon 
for  turning  the  cocks  of  his  engine.  When  Robison  there- 
fore pressed  his  inquiry,  Watt  at  length  looked  at  him  and 
said  briskly,  "  You  need  not  fash4  yourself  any  more  about 
that,  man ;  I  have  now  made  an  engine  that  shall  not  waste 
a  particle  of  steam.  It  shall  all  be  boiling  hot, — ay,  and 
hot  water  injected,  if  I  please."  He  then  pushed  the  little 
tin  cistern  with  his  foot  under  the  table. 

Robison  could  learn  no  more  of  the  new  contrivance 
from  Watt  at  that  time ;  but  on  the  same  evening  he  acci- 
dentally met  a  mutual  acquaintance,  who,  supposing  he 
knew  as  usual  the  progress  of  Watt's  experiments,  observed 
to  him,  "Well,  have  you  seen  Jamie  Watt?" — "Yes." — 
"  He'll  be  in  fine  spirits  now  with  his  engine  ?  " — "  Yes," 

*  Trouble. 


BATTLE  OF    fHE  Nil  91 

said  Robison,  "very  fine  spirits." — "  Gad  !  "  said  the  Other, 
"the  separate  condenser's  the  very  thing:  keep  it  but 
enough,  and  you  may  have  a  perfect  vacuum,  whatever  be 

the  heat  of  the  cylinder."     This  was  Watt's  secret,  and   the 
nature  of  the  contrivance  was  clear  to  Robison  at  once. 


XVIII. 
BATTLE  OF  THE  NILE. 
SOUTH  EY. 

[After  a  few  years  the  peaceful   progress   of  England   was 
disturbed  by  a  fresh  war  with  France.     France  had  risen 
against  the  tyranny  which  had  long  oppressed  her  ;  and 
her  first  efforts  to  obtain  freedom  were  warmly  greeted  by 
nearly  all    Englishmen.     Unfortunately  the    Continental 
sovereigns,  in  dread  of  this  revolution,  resolved  to  put  it 
down  by  force  of  arms;  and  their  invasion  drove  France 
to  a  frenzy  of  alarm.     Terrible  crimes  were  committed, 
and  the  King,  Louis  the  Sixteenth,  was  put  to  death.     I 
invaders  however  were  driven  back;  and   in  the  pride  of 
its  success  the  French  Republic  determined  to  carry  it-. 
freedom  over  the  world  by  dint  of  the  sword-    England  m 
already  estranged    by  the  crimes  and  bloodshed  of  the 
Revolution  ;  she  was  now  alarmed  by  the  spread  of  Re- 
publican principles  at  home,  and  yet  more  by  the  sudden 
greatness  which  France  acquired  abroad  :   and  she  was 
determined  to  maintain  against  the   I\< 
the  Bourbons  in  older  days,  the  balance  <»!'  power.      I 
the  French  invading  Holland,  therefore,  England  de<  lared 
war.     The    war  lasted    more  than  twenty 
changed  its  character  more  than  once.      At  first   it  wa 
war  against  the  Revolution.     On  land  the   English  « 
unsuccessful:  but  their  defeats  were  redeemed   1 
victories  at  sea.     Of  these  the  greatest  was  tin-  Battl 
the  Nile.     The  young  French  general.  Napoleon  Bu 
parte,  after  a  course  of  marvellous  vicl 
revolutionize  the  Fast,  and  to  wrest  India  I 
18 


92        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

As  a  first  step  to  this,  he  sailed  under  escort  from  a  French 
fleet  to  Alexandria,  and  conquered  Egypt.  But  Nelson, 
the  first  of  British  seamen,  followed  him,  and  finding  the 
French  ships  ranged  in  line  in  Aboukir  Bay,  resolved  on 
an  attack.] 

The  moment  Nelson  perceived  the  position  of  the 
French,  that  intuitive  genius  with  which  he  was  endowed 
displayed  itself;  and  it  instantly  struck  him,  that  where 
there  was  room  for  an  enemy's  ship  to  swing,1  there  was 
room  for  one  of  ours  to  anchor.  The  plan  which  he 
intended  to  pursue,  therefore,  was  to  keep  entirely  on  the 
outer  side  of  the  French  line,  and  station  his  ships,  as  far 
as  he  was  able,  one  on  the  outer  bow,  and  another  on  the 
outer  quarter,  of  each  of  the  enemy's.  Captain  Berry, 
when  he  comprehended  the  scope  of  the  design,  exclaimed 
with  transport,  "  If  we  succeed,  what  will  the  world  say  ! " 
"  There  is  no  if  in  the  case,"  replied  the  Admiral :  "  that 
we  shall  succeed,  is  certain  :  who  may  live  to  tell  the  story 
is  a  very  different  question." 

As  the  squadron  advanced,  they  were  assailed  by  a  shower 
of  shot  and  shells  from  the  batteries  on  the  island,  and  the 
enemy  opened  a  steady  fire  from  the  starboard  side  of  their 
whole  line,  within  half  gun-shot  distance,  full  into  the  bows 
of  our  van  ships.  It  was  received  in  silence  :  the  men  on 
board  every  ship  were  employed  aloft  in  furling  sails,  and 
below  in  tending  the  braces,  and  making  ready  for  anchor- 
ing. Captain  Foley  led  the  way  in  the  Goliath,  out-sailing  the 
Zealous,  which  for  some  minutes  disputed  this  post  of  honour 
with  him.  He  had  long  conceived  that  if  the  enemy  were 
moored  in  line  of  battle  in  with  the  land  the  best  plan  of 
attack  would  be  to  lead  between  them  ai*i  the  shore, 
because  the  French  guns  on  that  side  were  not  likely  to  be 
manned,  nor  even  ready  for  action.  Intending,  therefore, 
1  Ride  freely  at  anchor. 


BATTLK  O)    THE  NILE. 

to  fix  himself  on  the  inner  bow  of  the  Guti 
near  the  edge  of  the  bank  as  the  depth  oi  water  would 
admit ;  but  his  anchor  hung,  and  having  opened  his  fire,  he 
drifted  to  the  second  ship,  the  Conauerant,  before  it  was 
clear;  then  anchored  by  the  stern,  inside  of  her,  and  in  ten 
minutes  shot  away  her  mast.  Hood,  in  the  /<•,/.' 
perceiving  this,  took  the  station  which  the  Goliath  intended 
to  have  occupied,  and  totally  disabled  the  Guerrier  in 
twelve  minutes.  The  third  ship  which  doubled  the  enemy's 
van  was  the  Orion,  Sir  J.  Saumarez  ;  she  passed  to  windward 
of  the  Zealous,  and  opened  her  larboard  guns  as  lorn: 
they  bore  on  the  Guerrier ;  then  passing  inside  the  C 
sunk  a  frigate  which  annoyed  her,  hauled  round  towards  the 
French  line,  and  anchoring  inside,  between  the  fifth  and 
sixth  ships  from  the  Guerrier,  took  her  station  on  the  lar- 
board bow  of  the  Franklin,  and  the  quarter  of  the  J'eupU 
Souverain,  receiving  and  returning  the  fire  of  both.  The 
sun  was  now  nearly  down.  The  Audacious,  Captain  Gould, 
pouring  a  heavy  fire  into  the  Guerrier  and  Conaueranf, 
fixed  herself  on  the  larboard  bow  of  the  latter  ;  and  when 
that  ship  struck,  passed  on  to  the  Peuple  Souverain.  The 
Theseus,  Captain  Miller,  followed,  brought  down  the 
Guerrier  s  remaining  main-  and  mixen-masts,  then  anchored 
inside  of  the  Spartiate,  the  third  in  the  French  line. 

While  these  advanced  ships  doubled  the  French  line,  the 
Vanguard  was  the  first  that  anchored  on  the  outer  side  of 
the  enemy,  within  half  pistol-shot  of  their  third   ship, 
Spartiate.     Nelson  had  six  colours  flying   in  different  parts 
of  his   rigging,   lest   they  should  be  shot  away — that   they 
should  be  struck,  no  British  admiral  considers    is  a  i  i 
bility.     He  veered  half   a   cable,  and  instantl] 
tremendous  fire,  under  cover  of  which  the  other  four  ships 
of   his   division,    the    Minotaur,    B  "'■."••.    / 

Majestic,  sailed  on  ahead  of  the  Admiral.   In  a  few  mil 


94        PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

every  man  stationed  at  the  first  six  guns  in  the  forepart  ol 
the  Vanguard's  deck  was  killed  or  wounded — these  guns 
were  three  times  cleared.  Captain  Louis,  in  the  Minotaur, 
anchored  next  ahead,  and  took  off  the  fire  of  the  Aquilon, 
the  fourth  in  the  enemy's  line.  The  Bellerophon,  Captain 
Darby,  passed  ahead,  and  dropt  her  stern  anchor  on  the 
starboard  bow  of  the  Orient,  seventh  in  the  line,  Brueys' 2 
own  ship,  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  guns,  whose  difference 
of  force  was  in  proportion  of  more  than  seven  to  three, 
and  whose  weight  of  ball,  from  the  lower  deck  alone, 
exceeded  that  from  the  whole  broadside  of  the  Bellerophon. 
Captain  Peyton,  in  the  Defence,  took  his  station  ahead  of 
the  Minotaur,  and  engaged  the  Franklin,  the  sixth  in  the 
line ;  by  which  judicious  movement  the  British  line 
remained  unbroken.  The  Majestic,  Captain  Westcott,  got 
entangled  with  the  main  rigging  of  one  of  the  French  ships 
astern  of  the  Orient,  and  suffered  dreadfully  from  that  three 
decker's  fire  :  but  she  swung  clear,  and  closely  engaging  the 
Heureux,  the  ninth  ship  on  the  starboard  bow,  received  also 
the  fire  of  the  To?inant,  which  was  the  eighth  in  the  line. 
The  other  four  ships  of  the  British  squadron,  having  been 
detached  previous  to  the  discovery  of  the  French,  were  at  a 
considerable  distance  when  the  action  began.  It  com- 
menced at  half  after  six ;  about  seven,  night  closed,  and 
there  was  no  other  light  than  that  from  the  fire  of  the 
contending  fleets. 

Trowbridge,  in  the  Culloden,  then  foremost  of  the 
remaining  ships,  was  two  leagues  astern.  He  came  on 
sounding,  as  the  others  had  done :  as  he  advanced,  the 
increasing  darkness  increased  the  difficulty  of  the  naviga- 
tion ;  and  suddenly,  after  having  found  eleven  fathoms  of 
water,  before  the  lead  could  be  hove  again  he  was  fast 
aground  ;  nor  could  all  his  own  exertions,  joined  to  those 
2  Brueys  was  admiral  of  the  French  fleet. 


IJA  ITI.K  OF  Till.  Nll.r.. 


oi  the  Leander  and  Mutihe  brig,  which  came  to  his 

ance,  get  him  oft"  in  time  to  bear  a  part  in  tl  !i  > 

ship,  however,  served  as  a  beacon   to  the 
Swi/tsure,  which  would  cist-,   from  the  course  which  I 
were  holding,  have  gone  considerably  farther  on  the   r 

and  must  inevitably  have   been   lost;  these  ships 
the   bay,   and    took   their    stations    in    the   darkness,   in  a 
manner  still  spoken  of  with  admiration   by  all  who  rem 
bered   it.     Captain    Hallowell,  in  the  Swt/tsure,  as  he 
bearing  down,  fell  in  with  what  seemed  to  be  a  strand- 
Nelson  had  directed  his  ships   to  hoist  four   lights   1 
tally  at  the  mizen-peak  as  soon  as  it  became  dark  ;  and  this 
vessel  had  no  such  distinction.      Hallowell,    however,   with 
great  judgment,  ordered  his  men  not  to  fire  :  if  she  v.  a 
enemy,  he  said,  she  was  in  too  disabled  a   state  to  i 
but,  from  her  sails  being  loose,  and   the  way  in  \vhi<  h 
head  was,  it  was  probable  she  might  be  an  English  ship.    It 
was  the  Bcllerophon  overpowered  by  the   huge  Orient : 
lights  had  gone  overboard,  nearly  two  hundred  of  her  i 
were    killed    or   wounded,    all  her   masts   and    cables 
been   shot  away  ;    and  she  was  drifting   out   of    the   line, 
towards    the    lee    side   of  the  bay      Her    station    at    this 
important   time   was   occupied    by    the    Swiftsure^    which 
opened  a  steady  fire  on  the  quarter  of  the  Franklin  and  the 
bows  of  the  French  Admiral.     At  the  same  instant,  Captain 
Ball,     with    the  Alexander,    passed    under    lus   Stern,  ami 
anchored  within  side  on  his  larboard  quarter,   raking   him, 
and  keeping  up  a  severe  fire  of  musketry  upon    his   d< 
The  last  ship  which  arrived  to  complete   the   destruction  of 
the  enemy  was  the  Lea nder.     Captain  Thompson,  finding 
that  nothing  could  be  done  that  night  to  get  off  the   I 
Men,  advanced  with  the  intention  of  anchoring  athi 
hawse  of  the  Orient.     The  Franklin 
that  there  was  not  room  for  him  I  '  lear  of  the  I 


96       PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

therefore  took  his  station  athwart-hawse  of  the  latter,   in 
such  a  position  as  to  rake  both. 

The  two  first  ships  of  the  French  line  had  been  dismasted 
within  a  quaiter  of  an  hour  after  the  commencement  of  the 
action ;  and  the  otners  had  in  that  time  suffered  so  severely 
that  victory  was  certain.  The  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  were 
taken  possession  of  at  half-past  eight.  Meantime  Nelson 
received  a  severe  wound  on  the  head  from  a  piece  of 
langridge  shot.  Captain  Berry  caught  him  in  his  arms  as  he 
was  falling.  The  great  effusion  of  blood  occasioned  an 
apprehension  that  the  wound  was  mortal :  Nelson  himself 
thought  so.  A  large  flap  of  the  skin  of  the  forehead,  cut 
from  the  bone,  had  fallen  over  one  eye  ;  and  the  other  being 
blind,  he  was  in  total  darkness.  When  he  was  carried  down, 
the  surgeon — in  the  midst  of  a  scene  scarcely  to  be  con- 
ceived by  those  who  have  never  seen  a  cockpit  in  time  of 
action,  and  the  heroism  which  is  displayed  amid  its  horrors 
— with  a  natural  and  pardonable  eagerness,  quitted  the  poor 
fellow  then  under  his  hands  that  he  might  instantly  attend 
the  Admiral.  "  No  !  "  said  Nelson,  "  I  will  take  my  turn 
with  my  brave  fellows."  Nor  would  he  suffer  his  own 
wound  to  be  examined  till  every  man  who  had  been  pre- 
viously wounded  was  properly  attended  to.  Fully  believing 
that  the  wound  was  mortal,  and  that  he  was  about  to  die, 
as  he  had  ever  desired,  in  battle  and  in  victory,  he  called 
the  chaplain,  and  desired  him  to  deliver  what  he  supposed 
to  be  his  dying  remembrance  to  Lady  Nelson.  He  then 
sent  for  Captain  Louis  on  board  from  the  Almotaur,  that  he 
might  thank  him  personally  for  the  great  assistance  which 
he  had  rendered  to  the  Vanguard ;  and  ever  mindful  of 
those  who  deserved  to  be  his  friends,  appointed  Captain 
Hardy  from  the  brig  to  the  command  of  his  own  ship, 
Captain  Berry  having  to  go  home  with  the  news  of  the 
victory.     When  the  surgeon  came  in  due  time  to  examine 


l:.\  i  ■!      Mil     Ml  E. 

his  wound  (for  it   was  in  vain  to  entreat  him  to  let  it 
examined  sooner),  the  most  anxious  silence  prevailed  ;  and 

the  joy  of  the  wounded  men  and  of  the  whole  hen 

they  heard  that  the  hurt  was  merely  superficial,  ga  e  N 
deeper  pleasure  than  the  unexpected  assurance  that  his  life 
was  in  no  danger.     The  surgeon  requested,  and  as  f 
could,  ordered  him,  to  remain  quiet ;  but  Nelson  could 
rest.     He  called   for  his  secretary,  Mr.   Campbell,   to  write 
the    despatches.      Campbell    had    himself  been   wo 
and  was  so  affected  at   the  blind  and  suffering  state  of  the 
Admiral  that  he  was  unable  to  write.     The  <  haplain 
then  sent  for;  but  before  he  came,  Nelson,  with  his  <  ha 
teristic  eagerness,  took  the  pen,  and  contrived  to  tra< 
few  words,  marking  his  devout  sense  of  the  success  « 
had    already   been    obtained.      He    was    now    left    ah 
when  suddenly  a  cry  was  heard  on  the  deck  that  the  O* 
was  on  fire.     In   the  confusion  he  found  his  way  up,   un- 
assisted and  unnoticed;  and,  to  the  astonishment 
one,  appeared  on  the  quarter-deck,  where  he  immedi; 
gave  orders  that  boats  should  be  sent  to  the  re'.ief  of  the 
enemy. 

It  was  soon  after  nine  that  the  fire  on  board  the  On 
broke   out.      Brueys    was   dead:    he   had     received    three 
wounds,  yet  would  not  lea. e  his  post:  a   fourth  cut   him 
almost  in  two.     He  desired  not  to   be  carried   below,  but 
to  be  left  to  die  upon  deck.     The  flames  soon  mastered 
ship.      Her   sides  had  just  been   painted  ;  and   the  oil 
and   paint-buckets  were   lying   on   the  poop.      By  the  ; 
digious  light  of  this  conflagration  the  situation  of  the  two 
fleets  could  now  be  perceived,  the  colours  of  both   b 
clearly  distinguishable.     About   ten   o'clock   the   ship 
up,  with  a  shock  which  was  felt  to  the 
vessel.     Many  of  her  officers  and  men  jumped 
some  clinging  to  the  spars  and  pieces  of  wreck  will 


08         PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

the  sea  was  strewn,  others  swimming  to  escape  from  the 
destruction  which  they  momently  dreaded.  Some  were 
picked  up  by  our  boats ;  and  some  even  in  the  heat  and 
fury  of  the  action  were  dragged  into  the  lower  ports  of  the 
nearest  British  ships  by  the  British  sailors.  The  greater  part 
of  her  crew,  however,  stood  the  danger  till  the  last,  and  con- 
tinued to  fire  from  the  lower  deck.  This  tremendous  explo- 
sion was  followed  bv  a  silence  not  less  awful :  the  firmer 
immediately  ceased  on  botn  sides  ;  *  and  the  first  sound 
which  broke  the  silence  was  the  dash  of  her  shattered  masts 
and  yards  falling  into  the  water  from  the  vast  height  to 
which  they  had  been  exploded.  It  is  upon  record  that  a 
battle  between  two  armies  was  once  broken  off  by  an  earth- 
quake— such  an  event  would  be  felt  like  a  miracle ;  but 
no  incident  in  war,  produced  by  human  means,  has  ever 
equalled  the  sublimity  of  this  co-instantaneous  pause  and 
all   its  circumstances. 

About  seventy  of  the  Orient's  crew  were  saved  by  the 
English  boats.  Among  the  many  hundreds  who  perished 
were  the  commodore,  Casa-Bianca,  and  his  son,  a  brave 
boy,  only  ten  years  old.  They  were  seen  floating  on  a 
shattered  mast  when  the  ship  blew  up.  She  had  money  on 
board  (the  plunder  of  Malta)  to  the  amount  of  600,000/. 
sterling.  The  masses  of  burning  wreck,  which  were  scat- 
tered by  the  explosion,  excited  for  some  moments  apprehen- 
sions in  the  English  which  they  had  never  felt  from  any 
other  danger.  Two  large  pieces  fell  into  the  main  and 
foretops  of  the  Swiftsure  without  injuring  any  person.  A 
port-fire  also  fell  into  the  main-royal  of  the  Alexander :  the 
fire  which  it  occasioned  was  speedily  extinguished.  Captain 
Bull  had  provided,  as  far  as  human  foresight  could  provide, 
against  any  such  danger.  All  the  shrouds  and  sails  of  his 
bhip,  not  absolutely  necessary  for  its  immediate  manage- 
ment, were  thoroughly  wetted,  and  so  rolled  up  that  they 


BAT  ["LE  OF  THE   Ml  h. 

were  as  hard  ami  as  little  inflammable  olid 

cylinders. 

The   fire  recommenced  with   the  ships    to  1  of  the 

centre;  and  continued  nil   about  three.     At  daybi 
Guillaumt  Teil  and  the  GenireuA,  the  two  rear-shi 
enemy,  were  the  only  French   ships  i  I    the   line  which 
their  colours  flying  ;  they  cut  their  cables  in  th 
not   having  been    engaged,  and  stood  out  to  sea,  and 
frigates  with  them.     The  Zealous  pursued  ;  but  as  there 
no  other  ship  in  a  condition  to  support  Captain  Hood,  he- 
was  recalled.     It  was  generally  believed  by  the  offii  ers,  that 
if  Nelson  had   not  been  wounded,  not  one  of  these  ships 
could   have  escaped— the  four  certainly  could  not  if   the 
Culloden  had  got  into  action — and  if  the  frigates  b 
to  the  squadron  had  been  present,  not  one  of  the  enemy's 
fleet    would    have    lelt  Aboukir   Bay.     These    foui    \ 
however,   were  all  that   escaped;  and    the  victory   was 
most  complete  and  glorious   in  the  annals  of  nayal  hi 
"  Victory,"  said  Nelson,  "  is  not  a  name  strong  en< 
such  a  scene  ;  "  he  called  it  a  conquest.     Of  thirteen  sail  ol 
the  line  nine  were  taken  and  two  burnt ;  of  the  foul  fi 
one  was  sunk,  another,  the  Artemise,  was  burnt  in  a  villai 
manner  by  her  captain,  M.  Estandlet,  who,  having  in 
broadside  at  the  Theseus,  struck  his  colours,  then  set  fit 
the  ship,  and  escaped,  with  most  of  his  crew,  to  shore.    The 
British    loss,    in    killed    and    wounded,  amounted    t  i  i 
hundred  and  ninety-five.     Westcott  was  the  only  captain 
who  fell.     Three   thousand   one   hundred  and    five    of   the 
French,   including    the   wounded,   «  nt   on   shot, 

cartel,    and    five    thousand    two    hundre  I    and     twenty  five 

perished. 

18* 


ioo      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

XIX. 

DEATH    OF   NELSON. 
SOUTH  EY. 

[Nelson's  victory  foiled  Buonaparte's  designs,  while  it  en- 
couraged Europe  to  rise  against  the  French  Republic. 
But  Buonaparte  returned  to  France,  and  by  fresh  victories 
restored  its  supremacy.  He  had  no  sooner  done  this, 
however,  than  he  overthrew  the  Republic  and  set  up  a 
despotism  in  its  stead  with  himself  as  Emperor  at  its 
head.  He  resolved  to  make  himself  master  of  all  Europe; 
and  to  begin  the  work  by  the  invasion  and  conquest  of 
England.  For  this  purpose  he  gathered  a  great  army  at 
Boulogne,  and  called  all  his  fleet  to  the  Channel  to 
cover  its  crossing.  Nelson,  however,  met  the  French 
ships  in  Trafalgar  Bay,  and  in  a  wonderful  victory  almost 
wholly  destroyed  them.  In  the  moment  of  triumph 
the  great  seaman  was  shot  by  a  marksman  in  the  French 
ship  he  was  attacking.] 

The  enemy  continued  to  fire  a  gun  at  a  time  at  the 
Victory}  till  they  saw  that  a  shot  had  passed  through  her 
main-topgallant  sail  :  then  they  opened  their  broadsides, 
aiming  chiefly  at  her  rigging  in  the  hope  of  disabling  her 
before  she  could  close  with  them.  Nelson,  as  usual,  had 
hoisted  several  flags,  lest  one  of  them  should  be  shot  away. 
The  enemy  showed  no  colours  till  late  in  the  action,  when 
they  began  to  feel  the  necessity  of  having  them  to  strike 
For  this  reason,  the  Santissima  Trinidad,  Nelson's  old 
acquaintance,  as  he  used  to  call  her,  was  distinguishable 
only  by  her  four  decks  ;  and  to  the  bow  of  this  opponent  he 
ordered  the  Victory  to  be  steered.  Meantime  an  incessant 
raking  fire   was  kept  up   upon  the  Victory.     The  Admirafs 

1  Nelson's  flag-ship. 


\  i  ;i  of  m.i  SON. 

Bfrretury  was  one  of  the  first  who  fell  ;  he  was  kill. 
cannon  shot  while  conversing  with  Hardy.     Captain   A 
of  the  marines,  with  the  help  of  a  sailor,  endeavour* 
remove   the    body    from    Nelson's  sight,  who  1. 
regard  for  Mr.  Scott;  but  he  anxiously  asked,  "  I 
Scott  that's  gone  ?"  and  being  informed  that  it   i 
so,  exclaimed,  "Poor  fellow!"     Presently  a  double-h 
shot  struck  a   party  of  marine::  who  were-  drawn  up 
poop,  and  killed  eight  of  them  :  upon  which   Nelson   imme- 
diately desired  Captain  Adair  to  disperse  his  men  round  the 
ship,    that    they  might    not    suffer    so    much    from    h 
together.       A    few    minutes    afterwards    a    shot    struck   the 
fore-brace-bits    on    the    quarter-deck    and    passed    between 
Nelson    and    Hardy,    a   splinter    from    the    bit    tearing 
Hardy's  buckle  and  bruising  his  foot.     Both  stopped 
looked  anxiously  at  each  other,  each  supposed  the  other 
to  be  wounded.      Nelson  then  smiled  and  said,  "  This  1 
warm  work,  Hardy,  to  last  Ion-.'' 

The  Victory  had  not  yet   returned  a  single  gun  :  fil't\ 
her  men  had  been  by  this  time  killed  or  wounded,  and 
main-topmast,  with  all  her  studding-sails  and   her  bo< 
shot  away.     Nelson  declared  that  in  ail  his  battle:;  he- 
seen  nothing  which  surpassed  the  cool  courage  ol   his  i 
upon    this    occasion.       At    four    minutes    after    twelve    she 
opened  her  fire  from  both  sides   of  her  deck.     It  was 
possible  to  break  the  enemy's  line  without  running  on  b 
one    of    their    ships;    Hardy2    informed    him    of  tl 
asked  him  which  he  would  prefer.  replied.  "Take 

your  choice,  Hardy,  it  does  not  signif)  mu<  Tb< 

was  ordered  to  put  the  helm  to  port,  and  the  •   r.in   on 

board   the    Red  ,  just    as   her   till  I    I         I    were  I 

away.    The  French  ship  received  her  with  a  ■  then 

instantly  let  down   her   lower   deck    l  r    f  ar  4 

-  Captain  of  the  "J 


102      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

boarded  through  them,  and  never  afterwards  fired  a  great 
gun  during  the  action.  Her  tops,  like  those  of  all  the 
enemy's  ships,  were  filled  with  riflemen.  Nelson  never 
placed  musketry  in  his  tops  ;  he  had  a  strong  dislike  to  the 
practice ;  not  merely  because  it  endangers  setting  fire  to  the 
sails,  but  also  because  it  is  a  murderous  sort  of  warfare,  by 
which  individuals  may  suffer,  and  a  commander  now  and 
then  be  picked  off,  but  which  never  can  decide  the  fate  of 
i'.  general  engagement. 

Captain  Harvey,  in  the  Temeraire,  fell  on  board  the 
Redoubtable  on  the  other  side.  Another  enemy  was  in  like 
manner  on  board  the  Temeraire :  so  that  these  four  ships 
formed  as  compact  a  tier  as  if  they  had  been  moored  to- 
gether, their  heads  lying  all  the  same  way.  The  lieutenants 
of  the  Victory  seeing  this,  depressed  their  guns  of  the  middle 
and  lower  decks,  and  fired  with  a  diminished  charge,  lest 
the  shot  should  pass  through  and  injure  the  Temeraire.  And 
because  there  was  danger  that  the  Redoubtable  might  take 
fire  from  the  lower  deck  guns,  the  muzzles  of  which  touched 
her  side  when  they  were  run  out,  the  fireman  of  each  gun 
stood  ready  with  a  bucket  of  water ;  which,  as  soon  as  the 
gun  was  discharged,  he  dashed  into  the  hole  made  by  the 
shot.  An  incessant  fire  was  kept  up  from  the  Victory  from 
both  sides  ;  her  larboard  guns  playing  upon  the  Bucentaure 
and  the  huge  Santissima  Trinidad. 

It  had  been  part  of  Nelson's  prayer  that  the  British  fleet 
might  be  distinguished  by  humanity  in  the  victory  which  he 
expected.  Setting  an  example  himself,  he  twice  gave  orders 
to  cease  firing  upon  the  Redoubtable,  supposing  that  she  had 
struck,  because  her  great  guns  were  silent ;  for,  as  she 
carried  no  flag,  there  was  no  means  of  instantly  ascertaining 
the  fact.  From  this  ship  which  he  had  thus  twice  spared,  he 
received  his  death.  A  ball  fired  from  her  mizentop,  which, 
in  the  then  situation  of  the  two  vessels,  was  not  more  than 


DEATH  01r  NELSON. 

fifteen  yards  from  that  part  of  the  deck  from  where  In- 
standing,  struck  the  epaulette  on  his  Left  shoulder,  about 
a  quarter  after  one,  just  in  the  heat  of  action.     II  -  I 
upon  his  face  on  the  spot  which  was  covered  with  h 
secretary's  blood.     Hardy,  who  was  a  few  steps  from  him, 
turning  round,  saw  three  men  raising  him  up.    '    I  we 

done  for  me  at  last,  Hardy,"  said  he. — "  I   hope  not,    i 
Hardy. — "Yes!"    he    replied;    "my    back-bone    is    shot 
through."     Yet  even  now,   not   for   a   moment    losing 
presence  of  mind,   he  observed,  as  they  were  carrying  him 
down  the  ladder,  that  the  tiller- ropes  which  had  been  shot 
away  were   not  yet   replaced,  and  ordered  that  new  o 
should  be  rove  immediately — then,  that  he  might  not  be 
seen  by  the  crew,  he  took  out  his  handkerchief,  and  covered 
his  face  and  his  stars.  —  Had  he  but  concealed  lhe.se  badges 
of  honour  from  the  enemy,  England,  perhaps,  would  not 
have  had  cause   to  receive  with  sorrow  the   news  of   the 
Battle  of  Trafalgar. 

The  cockpit  was  crowded  with  wounded  and  dying  men. 
over  whose  bodies  he  was  with  some  difficulty  conve 
and  laid  upon  a  pallet  in  the  midshipmen's  berth.     It  was 
soon    perceived,  upon    examination,   that    the   wound   was 
mortal.       This,    however,    was   concealed   from    all   except 
Captain  Hardy,  the  chaplain,  and  the  medical  attendants. 
He  himself  being  certain,  from  the  sensation  in   hi 
and  the  gush  of  blood   he  felt  momently  within  his  bl 
that  no  human  care  could  avail  him,  insisted  that  the 
should  leave  him,  and  attend  to   those  to  whom   he  might 
be  useful  ;  "For,"  said   he,  "you   can   do  I 
All  that  could  be  done  was   to  fan  him  with  and 

frequently   to    give  him   lemonade   to   alleviate    his  inl 
thirst.      He   was   in  great  pain,  and  ex|  n    sed  mu<  h  an 
for   the  event    of  the  action,  which   now  began  V 
itself.      As  often  as  a  ship  struck,  the  '■   the    / 


104      PROSE  READINGS  FROM   ENGLISH   HISTORY. 

hurraed ;    and  at  every  hurra,  a  visible  expression  of  joy 
gleamed    in  the  eyes  and  marked  the  countenance  of  the 
dying    hero.      But    he    became   impatient    to    see   Captain 
Hardy ;  and  as  that  officer,  though  often  sent  for,  could  not 
leave  the  deck,  Nelson  feared  that  some  fatal  cause  prevented 
him,   and  repeatedly  cried :   "Will   no  one  bring  Hardy  to 
me  ?  He  must  be  killed  !  He  is  surely  dead  !  "  An  hour  and 
ten  minutes  elapsed  from  the  time  when  Nelson  received  his 
wound,  before  Hardy  could  come  to  him.  They  shook  hands 
in  silence ;  Hardy  in  vain  struggling  to  suppress  the  feelings 
of  that  most  painful  and  yet  sublimest   moment.      "Well, 
Hardy,"  said  Nelson,  "  how  goes  the  day  with  us  ?  " — "  Very 
well,"  replied  Hardy  ;  "  ten  ships  have  struck,  but  five  of  the 
van  have  tacked,  and  show  an  intention  to  bear  down  upon 
the  Victory.     I  have  called  two  or  three  of  our  fresh  ships 
round,  and  have  no  doubt  of  giving  them  a  drubbing." — 
"  I  hope,"  said  Nelson,  "none  of  our  ships  have  struck?" 
Hardy  answered,  "  There  was  no  fear  of  that."     Then,  and 
not  till  then,  Nelson  spoke  of  himself.     "  I  am  a  dead  man, 
Hardy,"  said  he :  "I  am  going  fast — it  will  be  all  over  with 
me  soon.    Come  nearer  to  me.    Let  my  dear  Lady  Hamilton 
have  my  hair,  and  all  other  things  belonging  to  me."    Hardy 
observed  that  he  hoped  Mr.  Beatty  could  yet  hold  out  some 
prospect  of  life.     "  Oh,  no  ! "  he  replied  :  "  it  is  impossible. 
.My  back  is  shot  through.     Beatty  will  tell  you  so."    Captain 
Hardy  then  once  more  shook  hands  with  him ;  and  with  a 
heart  almost  bursting,  hastened  upon  deck. 

By  this  time  all  the  feeling  below  the  breast  was  gone ; 
and  Nelson  having  made  the  surgeon  ascertain  this,  said  to 
him,  "  You  know  I  am  gone ;  I  know  it.  I  feel  something 
rising  in  my  breast"- — putting  his  hand  on  his  left  side — 
"which  tells  me  so."  And  upon  Beatty's  inquiring  whether 
his  pain  was  very  great,  he  replied,  "So  great  that  he  wisl>ed 
he  was  dead.      Vet,"  said  he,  in  a  lower  voice,  "  one  would 


Dl  ATI!  OF  NELS< 

like  to  live  a  little  longer  too         And  alter  a  few  mini 
in  the  same  undertone  he  added.  "  What  would 
poor  Lady  Hamilton  if  she  knew  my  silu.it  i 
his  country  she  occupied  his  thou: 

fifty  minutes  after   he  had  left   the    cockpit,  returned  : 
again  taking  the  hand  of  his  dying  friend  and  comn 
congratulated  him  on  having  gained  a  complete  victory.   11    • 
many  of  the  enemy  were  taken  he  did  not  know,  a 
impossible    to    perceive   them    distinctly  ;    but  fourteen   or 
fifteen  at  least.     "  That's  well,"  cried   Nelson,  "but    I 
gained  for  twenty."     And  then  in  a  stronger   voice  he 
'•Anchor,    Hardy,  anchor."     Hardy    upon   this  hinted 
Admiral  Collingwoud  would  take  upon  himself  the  direi 
of    affairs.      "Not    while    I    live,    Hardy,"    said    the   d) 
Nelson,  ineffectually  endeavouring  to  raise  himself  from   the 
bed;   "  do  you  anchor."     His  previous  order  for  preparing 
to  anchor  had  shown  how  clearly  he  ion  saw  the  necessi 
this.    Presently  calling  Hardy  back,  he  said   to  him  in  a  low 
voice,  "Don't  throw  me  overboard."     And  he   desired 
he  might    be    buried    bj  his  parents,  unless  it  should  i  1 
the  king  to  order  otherwise.    Then  reverting  to  private  feel- 
ings, "Take  care  of  my  dear  Lady  Hamilton,  Hard)  ;  take 
care    of   poor    Lady    Hamilton.— Kiss    me,    Hardy," 
he.     Hardy  knelt  down  and  kissed  his  cheek;  and   N< 
said,   "Now  I   am  satisfied.       Thank   God,    1    have    done 
my  duty."     Hardy  stood  over  him  in  silence  for   a  ; 
or  two,  then  knelt  again  and  kissed  his  forehead.    "Wh 
that?"  said  Nelson  ;  and  being  informed,  he  r( ; 
bless  you,  Hardy  1  "     And  Hardy  then  left  him 

Nelson  now  desired  to  be  turned  upon  his  right  side. 
said,  "I  wish  1  had  not  left  the  deck  ;  for   1   shall 
gone."     Death  was  indeed  rapidly  ap]  H 

to  the  chaplain,  "  Doctor,  1  have  not  been 
and  alter  a  ^hort  pause,    "Remembei    that    1    leai      I 


ro6      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Hamilton  aid  my  daughter  Horatia  as  a  legacy  to  my 
country."  His  articulation  now  became  difficult ;  but  he 
was  distinctly  heard  to  i-ay,  "  Thank  God,  I  have  done  my 
duty."  These  words  he  repeatedly  pronounced ;  and  they 
were  the  last  words  which  he  uttered.  He  expired  at  thirty 
minutes  after  four — three  hours  and  a  quarter  after  he  had 
received  his  wound. 


XX. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  ALBUERA- 
NAPIER. 

[The  victory  of  Trafalgar  secured  England  from  invasion, 
and  left  her  mistress  of  the  seas.  But  Buonaparte,  who 
became  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  was  made  by  victories 
as  great  almost  absolute  master  of  the  Continent  ;  and 
the  two  great  rival  powers  of  land  and  sea  were  left  face 
to  face.  At  last  the  Emperor's  sway  was  broken  by  a 
rising  of  the  Spanish  people  on  his  seizure  of  Spain  ;  and 
England  at  once  backed  this  by  sending  her  troops  to  its 
support.  After  a  while  Wellington  became  their  general ; 
and  a  war  began  in  which  he  encountered  many  of  Napo- 
leon's marshals  with  success.  One  of  the  most  brilliant 
events  of  this  war  was  the  repulse  of  an  attack  under 
Marshal  Soult  by  a  British  force  commanded  by  Marshal 
Beresford,  at  Albuera.] 

Soult  had  forty  guns,  four  thousand  veteran  cavalry,  and 
nineteen  thousand  chosen  infantry,  all  of  one  discipline, 
animated  by  one  spirit,  and  amply  compensated  for  their 
inferiority  in  number  by  their  fine  organization  and  their 
leader's  capacity,  which  was  immeasurably  greater  than 
his  adversary's.1  He  had  examined  the  position  without 
hindrance  on  the  evening  of  the  15th,  and  hearing  that  tha 
1  Marshal  Beresford. 


THE  ha  II  LE  ui-  ALBUERA. 

fourth  division  was  left  at  Badajos,  and  that  Blake  would 
arrive  before  the  17th,  resolved  to  attack  next  morning,  i<»r 
lie  had  detected   the  weakness  of  Beresford's  disposit 
The  hill  in  the  centre,  commanding  the  Valverde  road, 
undoubtedly  the  key  of  the  position  if  an  attack  \\ 
parallel  to  the  front;  but  Soult  saw  that  on  the  right  a  I 
rouidt  broken  tabledand  trended  back  towards  the  Valverde 
road  and  looked  into  the  rear  of  Beresford's  line.      Hen 
he  could  suddenly  place  his  masses  there  he  might  roll  up  the 
allies  on  their  centre  and  push  them  into  the  valley  behind  ; 
the  Valverde  road  could  then  be  seized,  the  retreat  cut,  and 
the  strong  French  cavalry  would  complete  the  victory. 

[His  plans  were  admirably  carried  out  on  the  following  morn- 
ing. While  the  British  troops  were  still  occupied  in  taking 
up  their  position,  and  their  Spanish  allies  were  delaying 
to  move,  the  French  broke  in  upon  their  rear.] 

Half  an  hour  had  sufficed  to  under  Beresford's  position 
nearly  desperate.  Two-thirds  of  the  French  were  in  com- 
pact order  of  battle  perpendicular  to  his  right,  and  his 
army,  composed  of  different  nations,-  was  making  a  dis- 
orderly change  of  front.  Vainly  he  tried  to  get  the  Spanish 
line  advanced  to  make  room  for  the  second  division  to 
support  it,  the  French  guns  opened,  their  infantry  threw 
a  heavy  musketry  fire,  and  their  cavalry,  outflanking  the 
front  and  menacing  different  points,  put  the  Spaniard 
disorder:  they  fell  fast  and  went  back. 

Soult  thought  the  whole  army  was  yielding,  Ik-  pushed 
forward  his  columns,  his  reserves  mounted  the  hill  behind 
him,  and  General   Ruty  placed  all  I  nch  batteri 

pos,tion  ;  but  then  William  Stewart  re  u  hed  the 
height  with  a  brigade  of  the   second  division    under    I 
borne,  who   seeing   the  confusion  above,   desired 
2  English,  Spanish,  and  Pi 


10S     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

in  order  of  battle  previous  to  mounting.  But  Stewart,  whose 
boiling  courage  generally  overlaid  his  judgment,  led  up  in 
column  of  companies,  passed  the  Spanish  right,  and  at- 
tempted to  open  a  line  by  succession  of  battalions  as  they 
arrived.  The  enemy's  fire  was  found  too  destructive  to  be 
borne  passively,  and  the  foremost  troops  charged  ;  but  then 
heavy  rain  obscured  the  view,  four  regiments  of  French 
hussars  and  lancers  galloped  in  from  the  right  at  the  moment 
of  advancing,  and  two-thirds  of  the  brigade  went  down :  the 
31st  Regiment  only,  being  on  the  left,  formed  square  and 
resisted,  while  the  French  horsemen,  riding  furiously  about, 
trampled  the  others,  and  captured  six  guns.  The  tumult 
was  great ;  a  lancer  fell  upon  Beresford,  who,  being  a  man 
of  great  strength,  put  aside  the  lance  and  cast  him  from  his 
saddle  ;  and  then  a  shift  of  wind  blowing  aside  the  smoke 
and  mist,  Lumley  perceived  the  mischief  from  the  plain 
below,  and  sending  four  squadrons  up  against  the  straggling 
lancers,  cut  many  of  them  off:  Penne  Villemur's  Spanish 
cavalry  was  also  directed  to  charge  the  French  horsemen 
in  the  plain,  and  they  galloped  forward  until  within  a  few 
yards  of  their  foes  but  then  shamefully  fled. 

During  this  first  unhappy  effort  of  the  second  division  so 
great  wits  the  disorder,  that  the  Spaniards  in  one  part  fired 
without  cessation,  though  the  British  troops  were  before 
them  ;  in  another  part,  flying  before  the  lancers,  they  would 
have  broken  through  the  29th,  then  advancing  to  succour 
Colborne,  but  with  a  stern  resolution  that  regiment  smote 
friends  and  foes  without  distinction  in  their  onward  pro- 
gress. Meanwhile  Beresford,  finding  the  main  body  of 
the  Spaniards  would  not  advance,  seized  an  ensign  by  the 
breast  and  bore  him  and  his  colours  by  main  force  to  the 
front,  yet  the  troops  did  not  follow,  and  the  coward  ran 
back  when  released  from  the  Marshal's  iron  grasp.  In  this 
crisis  the  weather,   which  had   ruined   Colborne's  brigade, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  ALBI  I  RA. 

saved  the  day.     Soult  could  not  sec  the  whol 
and  kept  his  heavy  columns  inactive  when  th( 
might  have  been  struck.      His  cavalry,  indeed,   began  to 
hem  in  that  of  the  allies,  yet  the  fire  of  the  hoi  lery 

enabled   Lumley,   covered    as  he   was    by    the    bed 
Aroya  and  supported  by  the  fourth  division,  t'>  <  he<  k  I 
on  the  plain;  Colbome  still  remained  on  the  height  with 
the    31st    Regiment.      The    British   artillery,    under   Ju 
Hartman,  was  coming  fast  into  action,  and  William  E 
who  had   escaped    the    charge    of   the    lancers,    was    aj 
mounting   the    hill    with     Houghton's    brigade,    whi 
brought  on  with  equal  vehemence,  but  in  a  juster  order  of 
battle.     The   day  then  cleared,  and  a  dreadful  fire 
into  the  thickest  of  the   French   columns  convinced  !-oult 
that  the  fight  was  yet  to  be  won. 

.     Houghton's  regiments  reached  the  height  under  a  h< 
cannonade,  and  the  29th,  after  breaking  through  the  fugi- 
tive Spaniards,  was  charged  in  flank  by  the  French  lam 
yet     two    companies,    wheeling    to    the    right,   foiled 
attack  with  a  sharp   fire,  and  then  the  third  brigade  of  the 
second  division  came  up  on  the  left,  and         -     Dish  tr< 
under  Zayas  and  Ballesteros,  at  last  moved  forward.     Hart- 
man's   artillery  was  now  in   full  play,  and   the   enemy's  in- 
fantry recoiled,  but,  soon  recovering,  renewed  the  fight  with 
greater  violence   than   before.     The  cannon  on   both  sides 
discharged  showers  of  grape  at   half   range,    the    peals    of 
musketry  were   incessant,   often   within   pistol-sl  the 

close  formation  of  the  French  embarrassed  their  bat 
the  British  line  would  not  yield  them  an  inch  of  I  or 

a  moment  of  time  to  open  their  ranks.     Their  fighti 
however,  fierce  and  dangerous.    Stewart  was  twice  woun 
Colonel  Duckworth  was  slain,  and  the  intrepid   II 
having  received  many  wounds  without    shrink  1; 
died   in    the  very   act  of  cheering  on   his    men. 


no      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

struggle  continued  with  unabated  fury.  Colonel  Inglis, 
twenty-two  officers,  and  more  than  four  hundred  men,  out 
of  five  hundred  and  seventy  who  had  mounted  the  hill,  fell 
in  the  57th  alone;  the  other  regiments  were  scarcely  better 
off,  not  one-third  were  standing  in  any :  ammunition  failed, 
and  as  the  English  fire  slackened  a  French  column  was 
established  in  advance  upon  the  right  flank.  The  play  of 
the  guns  checked  them  a  moment,  but  in  this  dreadful  crisis 
Beresford  wavered  !  Destruction  stared  him  in  the  face, 
his  personal  resources  were  exhausted,  and  the  unhappy 
thought  of  a  retreat  rose  in  his  agitated  mind.  He  had 
before  brought  Hamilton's  Portuguese  into  a  situation  to 
cover  a  retrograde  movement ;  he  now  sent  Alten  orders  to 
abandon  the  bridge  and  village  of  Albuera,  and  to  take 
with  his  Germans  and  the  Portuguese  artillery  a  position 
to  cover  a  retreat  by  the  Valverde  road.  But  while  the 
commander  was  thus  preparing  to  resign  the  contest, 
Colonel  Hardinge  had  urged  Cole  to  advance  with  the 
fourth  division ;  and  then  riding  to  the  third  brigade  of  the 
second  division,  which,  under  the  command  of  Colonel 
Abercrombie,  had  hitherto  been  only  slightly  engaged, 
directed  him  also  to  push  forward  into  the  fight.  The 
die  was  thus  cast,  Beresford  acquiesced,  Alten  received 
orders  to  retake  the  village,  and  this  terrible  battle  was 
continued. 

The  fourth  division  was  composed  of  two  brigades  :  one 
of  Portuguese,  under  General  Harvey ;  the  other,  under 
Sir  William  Myers,  consisting  of  the  7th  and  23rd  Regiments, 
was  called  the  fusileer  brigade  :  Harvey's  Portuguese  were 
immediately  pushed  in  between  Lumley's  dragoons  and  the 
hill,  where  they  were  charged  by  some  French  cavalry, 
whom  they  beat  off,  and  meantime  Cole  led  his  fusileers  up 
the  contested  height.  At  this  time  six  guns  were  in  the 
enemy's    possession,   the   whole    of    the    Werle's    reserves 


THE  BAT!  1.1.  OF  ALBUERA.  HI 

were  coming  forward  to  reinforce  the  fronl  column  of  the 

French,  the  remnant  of  Houghton 

maintain  its  ground,  the  field  wis   heaped  with 

the  lancers  were  riding  furiously  about  the  captured  am.. 

on   the   upper  parts  of  the   hill,  and,  behind  all,  Hamil; 

Portuguese  and  Alten's   Germans,   now  withdrawing    from 

the  bridge,  seemed  to  be  in  full   retreat.      Soon,   i 

Cole's   fusileers,  flanked   by  a   battalion  of   the    Lusitanian 

legion,  under  Colonel  Hawkshawe,  mounted  the  hill,  di 

off  the  lancers,  recovered  five  of  the  captured  guns  and  ■ 

colour,  and  appeared  on  the  right  of  Houghton's  1 

precisely  as  Abercrombie  passed  it  on  the  left. 

Such  a  gallant  line,  issuing  from  the  midst  of  the  smoke 
and  rapidly  separating  itself  from  the  confused  and  1 'token 
multitude,  startled  the  enemy's  masses,  which  were  incn 
ing  and  pressing   onwards  as   to  an   assured   \; 
wavered,  hesitated,  and  then  vomiting  forth  a  storm  of 
hastily  endeavoured  to  enlarge  their  front,  while  a  fearful 
discharge  of  grape  from  all  their  artillery  whistled  thro 
the  British  ranks.     Myers  was  killed,  Cole  anil  the  three 
colonels,  Ellis,  Blakeney,  and  Hawkshawe,    fell   woum 
and  the   fusileer   battalions,    struck   by  the    iron    tern; 
reeled  and   staggered  like  sinking  ships;  but  suddenly  and 
sternly  recovering  they  closed  on  their  terrible  enemies,  and 
then  was  seen  with  what  a  strength  and  majesty  the   British 
soldier  fights.       In  vain   did   Soult   with  voice  and   gesture 
animate  his  Frenchmen,  in   vain   did  the  hardiest   l 
break  from  the  crowded  columns  and  sacrifice  their  I 
gain  time  for  the  mass  to  open  out  on  su<  h  a  fair  field  ;  in 
vain   did    the  mass  itself  bear  up,  and,  fiercely  striving,   fire 
indiscriminately  upon  friends  and  foes,  while  th< 
hovering    on    the  flank    threatened    to  •'-'   the    . 

ing  line.      Nothing    could   stop   that    astonishing    infa: 
No   sudden    burst    of    undisciplined    valour,   no    i 


ii2      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

enthusiasm  weakened  the  stability  of  their  order,  their  flash- 
ing eyes  were  bent  on  the  dark  columns  in  their  front, 
their  measured  tread  shook  the  ground,  their  dreadful  volleys 
swept  away  the  head  of  every  formation,  their  deafening 
shouts  overpowered  the  dissonant  cries  that  broke  from  ail 
parts  of  the  tumultuous  crowd,  as  slowly  and  with  a  horrid 
carnage  it  was  pushed  by  the  incessant  vigour  of  the  attack 
to  the  farthest  edge  of  the  hill.  In  vain  did  the  French 
reserves  mix  with  the  struggling  multitude  to  sustain  the 
fight,  their  efforts  only  increased  the  irremediable  confusion, 
and  the  mighty  mass,  breaking  off  like  a  loosened  cliff,  went 
headlong  down  the  steep  :  the  rain  flowed  after  in  streams 
discoloured  with  blood,  and  eighteen  hundred  unwounded 
men,  the  remnant  of  six  thousand  unconquerable  British 
soldiers,  stood  triumphant  on  the  fatal  hill. 


XXI. 

WATERLOO. 
GREEN. 

[While  the  French  were  being  pressed  hard  in  Spain, 
Napoleon's  empire  broke  down  before  a  coalition  of  the 
European  powers,  and  he  was  driven  into  exile  at  Elba. 
He  returned  however,  was  again  received  by  France,  and 
finding  Europe  still  against  him,  resolved  to  break  the 
league  of  her  states  by  crushing  first  the  English,  and  then 
the  Prussian  army,  who  then  occupied  Belgium  under 
Wellington  and  Blucher.] 

Napoleon  landed  on  the  ist  March,  1815,  on  the  coast 
near  Cannes,  and,  followed  only  by  a  thousand  of  his 
guards,  marched  over  the  mountains  of  Dauphine  upon 
Grenoble  and  Lyons.     He  counted,  and  counted  justly,  on 


WATERLOO.  113 

the  indiffereni  e  of  the  country  to  its  new   Bourl  ' 

on  the  longing  of  the  army  tor  a  fresh  stru 

ire  its  glory,  and  above  all  on  the  spell  of  his 

over  soldiers  whom    he   had   so  often    led   to    victory. 
twenty  days    from    his    landing    he    reached    the    Tuili 
unopposed,  while  Lewis  the    Eighteenth  fled  help' 
Ghent       But    whatever    hopes    he     had    drawn    from 
divisions  of  the  Allied  Towers  were   at   once    di  p  11  d    by 
their  resolute  action  on  the  news  of  his  descent  u] 
Their  strife  was  hushed  and  their  old  union  r 
consciousness  of  a  common  danger.    A  Declaration 
instantly  by  all  put  Napoleon  to  the  ban  of  Europe.    Ai 
gagementto  supply  a  million  of  men  for  the  purposes  ol  the 
war,  and  a  recall  of  their  armies  to  the  Rhine,  gave  ; 
effect  to  the  words  of  the  Allies.   England  furnished  subs 
to  the  amount  of  eleven  millions  to  support  these  enormous 
hosts,  and  hastened  to  place  an  army  on  the  frontiei  of  the 
Netherlands.     The  best  troops  of  the  force  which  had  been 
employed    in  die  Peninsula  however  were  still  across  the 
Atlantic;  and   of   the  eighty  thousand   men    who 
round  Wellington  only  about  a  half  were  Englishmen,  the 
rest  principally  raw  levies  from  Belgium  and  Hanover. 
Duke's  plan  was  to  unite   with    the   one   hundred   and 
thousand  Prussians  under  Marshal   Blucher  who   were   ad 
vancing  on  the  Lower  Rhine,  and  to  enter  Fran< 
and  Namur  while  the  forces  of  Austria  and  Russia  <  losed  in 
upon  Paris  by  way  of  Belfort  and  Elsass. 

Napoleon  had   thrown    aside  all   thought    of   a 
defensive  war.      By  ama/ing  efforts  he  had  raised  an  an 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men  in  the  few  moi  I 
his  arrival  in  Paris ;  and  in  the  openii 
and  twenty  thousand  Frenchmen   were  concentrated  01 

1  On  Napoleon**  abdi  Lrtvh  t 

placed  u/>on  the  throne. 


114      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Sambre  at  Charleroi,  while  Wellington's  troops  still  lay  in 
cantonments  on  the  line  of  the  Scheldt  from  Ath  to  Nivelles, 
and  Blucher's  on  that  of  the  Meuse  from  Nivelles  to  Lieu'e. 
Both  the  allied  armies  hastened  to  unite  at  Quatre  Bras  ;  but 
their  junction  was  already  impossible.  Blucher  with  eighty 
thousand  men  was  himself  attacked  on  the  16th  by  Napoleon 
at  Ligny,  and  after  a  desperate  contest  driven  back  with 
terrible  loss  upon  Wavre.  On  the  same  day  Ney2  with 
twenty  thousand  men,  and  an  equal  force  under  D'Erion  in 
reserve,  appeared  before  Quatre  Bras,  where  as  yet  only  ten 
thousand  English  and  the  same  force  of  Belgian  troops  had 
been  able  to  assemble.  The  Belgians  broke  before  the 
charges  of  the  French  horse ;  but  the  dogged  resistance  of 
the  English  infantry  gave  time  for  Wellington  to  bring  up 
corps  after  corps,  till  at  the  close  of  the  day  Ney  saw  himself 
heavily  outnumbered,  and  withdrew  baffled  from  the  field. 
About  five  thousand  men  had  fallen  on  either  side  in  this 
fierce  engagement :  but  heavy  as  was  Wellington's  loss,  the 
firmness  of  the  English  army  had  already  done  much  to  foil 
Napoleon's  effort  at  breaking  through  the  line  of  the  Allies. 
Blucher's  retreat  however  left  the  English  flank  uncovered; 
and  on  the  following  day,  while  the  Prussians  were  falling 
back  on  Wavre,  Wellington  with  nearly  seventy  thousand 
men — for  his  army  was  now  well  in  hand — withdrew  in  good 
order  upon  Waterloo,  followed  by  the  mass  of  the  French 
forces  under  the  Emperor  himself. 

Napoleon  had  detached  Marshal  Grouchy  with  thirty- 
thousand  men  to  hang  upon  the  rear  of  the  beaten  Prussians 
while  with  a  force  of  eighty  thousand  men  he  resolved 
to  bring  Wellington  to  battle.  On  the  morning  of  the 
1 8th  of  June  the  two  armies  faced  one  another  on  the 
field  of  Waterloo  in  front  of  the  forest  of  Soignies,  on 
the  high  road  to  Brussels.  Napoleon's  one  fear  had  been 
2   The  bravest  pf  ATapalcou's  marshals. 


WATERLOO.  115 

that  of  a   continued    retreat.     "I   have  them!"  h 
as  he   saw    the    English    line  drawn   up  on   a  low   ri 
ground    which    stretched    across    the    high    mad   from    the 
chateau  of  Hougomont  on  its  right  to  the  farm  and  Sti 
village  of  La  Have  Sainte  on  its  left.     He  had  some  . 
for  his   confidence   of  success.     On   either  side   the 
numbered  between  seventy  and  eighty  thousand  men  ;  but 
the  French  were  superior  in  guns  and  1  ivahy,  and  a  i 
part  of  Wellington's  force  consisted  of  Belgian  levies 
broke  and  fled  at  the  outset  of  the  fight     A  fierce  attai  k 
upon   Hougomont  opened  the  battle  at  eleven  ;  but  it 
not  till  midday  that  the  corps  of  D'Erlon  advanced  upon 
the  centre  near  La  Haye  Sainte,  which  from  that  time  bore 
the  main  brunt  of  the  struggle.     Never  has  greater  com 
whether  of  attack  or  endurance,  been  shown  on  any  field 
than  was   shown  by  both   combatants  at  Waterloo.     The 
columns  of  D'Erlon,  repulsed  by  the   English    foot,   were 
hurled  back  in  disorder  by  a  charge  of   the  Scots  Gi 
but  the  victorious  horsemen  were  crushed  in  their  turn   by 
the  French  cuirassiers,  and  the  mass  of  the  French  cavalry, 
twelve  thousand  strong,  flung  itself  in  charge  after  c: 
the  English  front,  carrying  the  English  guns  and  sweeping 
with  desperate  bravery  round  the  unbroken  squares  whose 
fire  thinned  their  ranks.     With  almost    equal  bravery    the 
French   columns  of  the  centre  again  advanced,  wrested  at 
last  the  farm  of  La  Haye  Sainte  from  their  opponents,  and 
pushed  on  vigorously  though  in  vain  under  Ney  against  the 
troops  in  its  rear. 

Terrible  as  was  the  English  loss— and  man)  of  his  r< 
ments  were  reduced  to  a  mere  handful  of  men — W'elln 
stubbornly  held  his  ground  while  the    Pi 
as    they    promised,   from   Wavre   through    deep    and 
forest   roads,    were  slowly  gathering   to    his  support, 
garding   the    attack    on  their  rear   1>\    wl 
I'.t 


n6      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

to  hold  them  back  from  the  field.  At  half-past  four  their 
advanced  guard  deployed  at  last  from  the  woods ;  but 
the  main  body  was  still  far  behind,  and  Napoleon  was  still 
able  to  hold  his  ground  against  them  till  their  increasing 
masses  forced  him  to  stake  all  on  a  desperate  effort  against 
the  English  front.  The  Imperial  Guard — his  only  reserve, 
and  which  had  as  yet  taken  no  part  in  the  battle — was  drawn 
up  at  seven  in  two  huge  columns  of  attack.  The  first,  with 
Ney  himself  at  its  head,  swept  all  before  it  as  it  mounted 
the  rise  beside  La  Haye  Sainte,  on  which  the  thin  English 
line  still  held  its  ground,  and  all  but  touched  the  English 
front  when  its  mass,  torn  by  the  terrible  fire  of  musketry 
with  which  it  was  received,  gave  way  before  a  charge  from 
the  English  Guards.  The  second,  three  thousand  strong, 
advanced  with  the  same  courage  over  the  slope  near  Hougo- 
mont,  only  to  be  shattered  and  repulsed  in  the  same  way. 
At  the  moment  when  these  masses,  shattered  but  still  un- 
conquered,  fell  slowly  and  doggedly  back  down  the  fatal  rise, 
the  Prussians  pushed  forward  some  forty  thousand  strong  on 
Napoleon's  right,  their  guns  swept  the  road  to  Charleroi,  and 
Wellington  seized  the  moment  for  a  general  advance.  From 
that  moment  all  was  lost.  Only  the  Old  Guard  stood  firm 
in  the  wreck  of  the  French  army  ;  and  nothing  but  night 
and  exhaustion  checked  the  English  in  their  pursuit  of  the 
broken  masses  who  hurried  from  the  field.  The  Prussian 
horse  continued  the  chase  through  the  night,  and  only 
forty  thousand  Frenchmen  with  some  thirty  guns  re 
crossed  the  Sambre.  Napoleon  himself  fled  hurriedly  to 
Paris,  and  his  second  abdication  was  followed  by  the 
triumphant  entry  of  the  English  and  Prussian  armies  into 
the  French  capital. 


THE  REFORM   BILL.  ,,7 


XXII. 
THE   REFORM    HILL. 

SPENCER    WALPOL1  . 

[What  had  enabled  England  to  bear  the  Stress  of  her  I 
strife  with  France  was  in  part  the  great  incri 
wealth  which  took  place  during  tins  struggle  from    tn  • 
developement  of  her  manufacturing  industry.      It  was  in 
fact  during  this  period  that  she  became  the  manufi 
country  of  the  world.     Of  these  manufactures  the  m 
important  was  that  of  cotton,  which  found  its  main  s  at 
in   Lancashire,  and  has  made  that  county  the  wealthiest 
and  most  populous  part  of  Britain.      With    the  develope- 
ment of  manufactures  came  a  great  dis]  I  rat  of  popu- 
lation, which  had  drifted  to  the  north  ol   England,  and  a 
new  activity  of  political   thought.     In    the  peace  which 
followed  on  the  fall  of  Napoleon,  the  English  towns  and 
trading  classes  began  to  cra\e  for  a   larger  share  in  the 
government  of  the  country,  and  for  this  purpose  t"  de- 
mand  a  rearrangement  of   the   sun             or   right    under 
which  men  voted   for    members   of  the    Hous< 
mons,  as  well  as  of  the  number  of  members  returned   by 
the  various  shires  and  boroughs.     The  panic  at  an\  i 
stitutional  change  which  had  been  created  by  the   French 
Revolution  was  still  strong  in  England,  ami  reform   was 
bitterly  opposed  ;  but  a  break   up  of  the   Tor)  party   in 
1830,  brought  the  Whigs  into  office  ;  and   they   at    0 
drew  up  a  bill  for  effecting  these  changes. J 

Under  ordinary  circumstances,  it  would  have  been  nal      1 
to  have  entrusted  the  Reform  Bill  to  the  leader  ol  thi    II 
of  Commons.      But  the  Cabinet   decided  that  it  sh 
introduced  by  Lord  John  Russell,  the    Paymaster  of   the 
Forces.     Various    reasons    induced  them    to   at  rive   at    this 
decision.      Lord  John  had  for  more  than   ten   \  ively 


nS      I'ROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

promoted  the  Reform  of  Parliament.  A  bill  which  was 
brought  forward  on  his  responsibility  was  therefore  sure 
of  favourable  consideration  by  the  Reformers.  Lord  John 
moreover  was  a  younger  brother  of  the  Duke  of  Bedford ; 
the  duke  was  one  of  the  largest  territorial  magnates  in  the 
country ;  he  was  the  proprietor  of  rotten  boroughs  ; l  and 
a  bill  therefore  recommended  by  his  brother's  authority 
was  likely  to  reassure  timid  or  wavering  politicians.  Some- 
thing was  indeed  necessary  to  infuse  spirit  into  the  hearts 
of  the  Reformers  in  Parliament.  Outside  the  House  a 
crowd  of  people,  anxiously  collected  throughout  the  greater 
portion  of  the  day,  testified  their  anxiety  for  the  success  oi 
the  measure  which  was  about  to  be  introduced.  But,  inside 
the  House,  Lord  John  was  confronted  by  a  compact  body 
of  Tories,  anxious  to  learn  what  the  Ministry  were  about  to 
propose,  but  ready  to  forget  their  own  differences  in  their 
dislike  to  all  reform.  Those  who  had  expected  a  great 
declamatory  speech  from  the  introducer  of  the  measure, 
were  disappointed.  Lord  John  told  his  tale  in  the  plainest 
language.  But  the  tale  which  he  had  to  tell  required  no 
extraordinary  eloquence  to  adorn  it.  The  Radicals  2  had 
not  dared  to  expect,  the  Tories  in  their  wildest  fears  had 
not  apprehended,  so  complete  a  measure.  Enthusiasm  was 
visible  on  one  side  of  the  House  j  consternation  and  dismay 
on  the  other.  At  last,  when  Lord  John  read  the  list  ot 
boroughs  which  were  doomed  to  extinction,  the  Tories 
hoped  that  the  completeness  of  the  measure  would  ensure 
its  defeat.  Forgetting  their  fears,  they  began  to  be  amused, 
and  burst  into  peals  of  derisive  laughter. 

Men  of  large  experience  believed  that,  if  Peel3  had  riseij 
the  moment   Lord   John  sat   down,  and  had  declined   to 

1  Boroughs  where  there  was  no  real  constitue7icy ;  ajui  whtre 
members  were  really  nominees  of  some  private  person. 

2  The  more  extreme  reformers.  3  Sir  Robert  Peel,  then 
leader  of  the  Tories  in  the  House  of  Commons. 


THE  REFORM   BU  I  . 

discuss  a  bill  which  was  not  .1  incisure  of  "  !<•  form  but  of 

Revolution,"  the  House  would  have  refused   to  allow 

bill  to  be  introduced.     It  is  very  m 

such  a  result  would  have  ensued.     Tory  members  liki 

Robert  Inglis  had  come  down  to  the  House  primed 

arguments  to  prove  that  little  fishing  villages  in  C 

were    better    qualified    to    return    members  than    li. 

manufacturing   towns  of  Yorkshire    and    Lancashire.       I 

members  like  Inglis,  who  had  scan  lied    through    Can 

and   Hatsell,    Henry  and  Rapin,   Hallam  and   Burke, 

had  telling  quotations  in  their  pockets  from  Home   I 

writings  and   Canning's   spee<  hes,    would    hardly    have   i 

sented  to  waste  all  their  labour  by  smothering  the  i 

infant  in  the  very  hour  of  its  birth.     The  1  Ions,-,  inst<  ad  «>i 

dividing,  talked  out  the  night  and  adjourned  till  the  i 

The    debate,  thus    adjourned,    was    protracted 

nights  ;     but    every    fresh     adjournment    streng!  the 

hands  of  the  Ministry  and  weakened  those  of  the 

tion.      The    measure,   which  had   excited    derision    in    tho 

House,  was  received  with  enthusiasm  out  of  doors.      R 

lutions,  supporting  the  bill,  were  passed  at  monster  1 

in  all  the  large  towns.      Moderate  members,  warned  by  the 

attitude  of  the  country,  declined  to  commit   them 

an   uncompromising  opposition   to   the  me  and 

bill,  which  might  possibly  have  been  thrown  oul   on  t! 

of  March,  was  read  a  first  time  without  a  divi 

9th. 

[The  bill  however  soon  found  difficulties  in  the 
of   the    House;    and    the    Ministry   wei      I 
abandon  it  or  to  resolve  on  an  appeal  to  u  e 
House  of  Lords,   on  hearing  of  their  pur] 
the  Houses,  determined  to  address  the  king 
dissolution;    but   they  were  anticipated    by  th  1 

William  the  Fourth.] 


I2o      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Fortunately  for  the  Ministry,  the  king's  consent  was  easily 
procured.  However  much  he  had  originally  disliked  the 
proposal  for  a  dissolution,  he  disliked  much  more  the  attempt 
which  was  to  be  made  in  the  House  of  Lords  to  interfere 
with  his  prerogative  to  dissolve.  He  declared  that  he  would 
go  himself  at  once ;  that  if  his  carriages  could  not  be  got 
ready  he  would  go  in  a  hackney  coach.  Trumpery  diffi- 
culties, raised  by  some  of  his  household,  about  preparing 
the  state  carriages  and  plaiting  the  horses'  manes,  might 
have  proved  impassable  mountains  in  the  reign  of  George — 
they  were  only  molehills  in  the  reign  of  William. 

On  the  afternoon  on  which  the  dissolution  took  place  the 
House  of  Lords  met  at  two,  the  House  of  Commons  at 
half-past  two.  The  impending  dissolution  had  just  become 
known,  and  both  Houses  were  the  scene  of  disorder  and 
confusion  rarely  witnessed  in  Parliament.  In  the  House  of 
Commons  the  violence  was  sufficiently  marked.  In  the 
House  of  Lords  the  peers  were  nearly  coming  to  blows. 
Wharncliffe  had  barely  time  to  read  his  motion4  before  his 
speech  was  stopped  by  shouts  of  "  the  king  !  "  Brougham  5 
increased  the  uproar  by  angrily  declaring  that  the  House  of 
Commons  had  thought  fit  to  take  the  extreme  and  unpre- 
cedented step  of  refusing  the  supplies.  The  complaint  only 
increased  the  anger  of  the  Tories.  Brougham  was  hooted. 
Lord  Londonderry  shook  his  fist  at  the  Duke  of  Richmond. 
The  peeresses  who  had  come  to  look  at  the  king  trembled 
in  the  gallery.  The  king  himself,  alarmed  at  the  uproar, 
hesirated  for  a  moment  to  enter  the  House.  Brougham, 
however,  easily  persuaded  him  that  the  indecorous  uproar 
would  be  hushed  by  his  presence.  He  came ;  and  told  his 
turbulent  legislators  that  he  had  come  to  prorogue  the 
Parliament,  with  a  view  to  its  immediate  dissolution. 

4  For  an  address  against  the  dissolution.  5  The  Lord 

Chancellor. 


Till.  l;l  l<  >RM   BI1  l  . 

The  consternation  of  the  Opposition  at  the  sudden  dis 
solution  of  the  Parliament  of  1830  the 

enthusiasm   which   was  1  reated    b)    the  >l    it  in 

country.     London   was  illuminated  j   Tor)   p  ere  had  I 

windows  broken  by  the  mob;   and  even  th 
of  Wellington  did  not  protect  Apsley  House  from  dan 
Every  one  was  required  to  illuminate,  and  duke  or  <ii. 
who  failed  to  manifest  his  participation   in    th  •   univ< 

elation,  had  to  pay  the  penalty  lor  his  indiffer 
general  rejoicing.    The  illumination  of  the  streets  of  1 
was,  however,  only  one  symptom  of  the  general  ex<  item 
From  John-o'-Groat's  to  the  Land's  laid  a  cry  \\  I  ol 

"The   Bill,   the   whole    bill,  and    nothing    but    the    Bill  I  ' 
Printed  lists    were  circulated  statin-  the  manner  in    \\ 
each   member  had  voted  on  Gascoyne's   motion.0      1 
one  who  had  directly  or  indirectly  opposed  reform  incui 
the  full  animosity  of  the  populace.     Gascoyne  himself  was 
defeated  at   Liverpool;  Sir   Robert  Wilson,  an  anient 
former  on  most  points,  lost  his  seat  at  Southwark  for  ha 
supported   Gascoyne.      County   members  like   Vyvyan,   the 
member  for  Cornwall;   Knatchbull,  the  member  for  Kent; 
and  Bankes,  the  member  for  Dorsetshire,  were  replaced  by 
Reformers      Even   the   influence  of   the   boroughmoi 
was  lost  in  the  crisis.      For  the  first  time  the  Duke  of 
castle   found  himself  unable   to  do   what   he   liked  wit 
own.      His  candidates  were    defeated  at    Newark,  a" 

law,  and  in  Nottinghamshire.    I 1  Lonsdalepi 

equally   powerless    in   Cumberland.      The    mighty   I  I 

popular  opinion,  bursting  the  bonds  by  which  it  I;  .  . 

trolled,  swept  political  power  out  of  the  ha 
borough-owners  and  transferred  it  to  the  people. 

c  A  hostile  amendment  meant  /<<f»>\;-  tk  I    ■ 

i  Men    who    returned    their  nomineex 

Commons  ami  sold  tluir  seats fot  mon 


122     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

XXIII. 
THE  RETREAT  FROM  CABUL. 

ALISON. 

[The  change  wrought  by  the  Reform  Bill  was  seen  in  a 
number  of  reforms,  both  in  Church  and  State,  which 
followed  it,  and  which  are  due  to  the  Whig  ministries 
who  held  office  for  the  ten  years  which  followed  its 
victory.  Their  great  work  at  home  however  was 
sullied  by  a  great  crime  abroad.  A  silly  panic  at  the 
advance  of  Russia  towards  India  drove  the  ministry  to 
resolve  on  an  invasion  of  Affghanistan,  and  this  measure 
was  carried  out  in  a  spirit  of  unscrupulous  violence.  For 
a  while  all  seemed  successful ;  but  after  two  years  of  oc- 
cupation the  Affghans  were  in  revolt ;  and  a  British  force 
at  Cabul  was  compelled  to  buy  their  permission  to  with- 
draw from  the  country.  The  bargain  was  only  made  to 
be  broken  ;  and  the  retreat  ended  in  an  awful  massacre.] 

On  the  sixth  of  January  the  march  commenced,  under 
circumstances  of  depression  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of 
mankind.  Deep  snow  covered  every  inch  of  mountain  and 
plain  with  one  unspotted  sheet  of  dazzling  white  ;  and  so 
intensely  bitter  was  the  cold  as  to  penetrate  and  defy  the 
defences  of  the  warmest  clothing.  Sad  and  suffering  issued 
from  the  British  cantonments  a  confused  mass  of  Euro- 
peans and  Asiatics,  a  mingled  crowd  of  combatants  and 
non-combatants,  of  men  of  various  climes  and  complexion 
and  habits — part  of  them  peculiarly  unfitted  to  endure  the 
hardships  of  a  rigorous  climate,  and  many  of  a  sex  and 
tender  age  which  in  general  exempts  them  from  such  scenes 
of  horror.  The  number  of  the  crowd  was  large — 4,500  fight- 
ing men,  of  whom  700  were  Europeans,  with  six  guns  and 
three  mountain-train  pieces,  and  upwards  of  12,000  camp  fo'- 


THE   K]   I  l.i  A  I    1  i  OM  L7     ll. 

lowers.     The  advai  from  the  canto 

at  nine  in  the  morning,  and  from  that  time  till  <;. 
huge  and  motley  crowd  contirued  to  pour  out  of  th 
which  were  immediately  oc<  uj  it  d  by  a  crowd  o 
Affghans,   who  rent  the  air  with  their  exulting  and 

fired  without  scruple  on  the  retiring  .  by  wh 

men  were  killed.      When   the  Cantonments  were  cleared 
order  was  lost,  and  troops  and  camp-followers,  and   hoi 
and  foot-soldiers,  baggage,  public  and  private,  become  in- 
volved in  one  inextricable  confusion.    "The  shades ol  night 
overtook  the  huge  multitude  while  still   pushing   their  \s 
course  ;  but  the  cold  surface  of  the  snow  reflected  the  . 
of  light  from  the  flames  of  the  lirit^h  residenc]  »ther 

buildings  to  which  the  Affghans  had   applied   the  torch  the 
moment  they  were  evacuated  by  our  n  Weary  and 

desperate  the  men    lay  down   on   the  snow   without   either 
food,  fire,  or  covering  ;  and  great  numbers  were  frozen 
death  before  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  gilded  the  summits  oi 
the  mountains." 

Disastrous  as  were   the   circumstances  under  which   i 
terrible  march  commenced,  they  were  much  aggravated  i 
the  succeeding  day.      All  tinier  was    then    lost — Q<  I  m- 

blance   even    of  military  array  was    kept    up       I      with   the 
rearguard,  while   numbers   of  Affghans,  evidently  moving 
parallel  to  the   retreating   multitude,  showed   themseb 
the  heights  above,  and,  in  open  defiance  of  the  i  apitulation, 
commenced   a  fire  upon   them.      They   even   attacked   the 
rearguard,  and   after  a  violent   struggle   look   the  m 
guns,    which,    though    immediately    retaken    by    Lieu:. 
Green,  could  not  be  brought  away,  and  were  spik< 
the  gleaming  sabres  of  the  enemy.      "  rwo  0th 
soon   after  abandoned,  as  the  horses  were   unabl 
them    through   the    snow.      Although  at    nightfall    they   I. 
only  accomplished  six  miles  of  their  wearisome  jotuw 
19* 


124      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

the  road  was  covered  with  dying  wretches  perishing  undei 
the  intolerable  cold.  The  Sepoys,  patient  and  resigned, 
sank  on  the  line  of  march,  awaiting  death.  Horses,  ponies, 
baggage -waggons,  camp-followers,  and  soldiers  were  con- 
fusedly muddled,  while  over  the  dense  mass  the  jezails  of 
the  Affghans,  posted  on  the  rocks  and  heights  above,  sent 
a  storm  of  balls,  every  one  of  which  took  effect  among 
the  multitude.  The  enemy  severely  pressed  on  our  rear, 
and  three  out  of  the  four  remaining  guns  fell  into  their 
hands.  The  soldiers,  weary,  starving,  and  frost-bitten, 
could  no  longer  make  any  resistance.  There  was  no  hope 
but  in  the  fidelity  of  Zemaun  Khan,  who  had  always  been 
true  to  us  ;  but  although  he  had  exerted  himself  to  procure 
supplies,  scarcely  any  were  got.  Meanwhile,  the  attacks  of 
the  Aifghans  continued  without  intermission." 

The  army  was  in  this  dreadful  state  when  it  arrived  at 
the  entrance  of  the  Coord  Cabul  defile.  It  is  five  miles  in 
length,  and  bounded  on  either  side  with  steep  overhanging 
mountains.  It  is  so  narrow,  the  sun  never  penetrates  its 
gloomy  jaws  ;  there  is  barely  room  for  a  rugged  road  or 
horse-track  between  the  torrent  and  the  precipices.  The 
stream  dashes  down  the  whole  way  with  inconceivable  im- 
petuosity, and  requires  to  be  crossed  eight  -arid-twenty  times 
in  the  course  of  the  ascent.  To  add  to  the  horrors  of  this 
defile,  the  frost  had  covered  the  road  and  edges  of  the 
torrent  with  a  coating  of  ice,  on  which  the  beasts  of  burden 
could  find  no  secure  footing,  and  in  attempting  to  pass 
which  great  numbers  slipped,  fell  into  the  water,  and  were 
swept  down  by  its  resistless  rush.  The  heights  above  were 
crowded  with  Affghans,  who,  securely  posted  on  the  sum- 
mits of  precipices  inaccessible  from  the  bottom  of  the  ravine, 
kept  up  an  incessant  fire  on  the  confused  and  trembling 
multitude  which  was  struggling  through  the  defile  beneath. 
All   order  was   soon   lost,   if  any  still   remained       Paggage 


THK  RETREA1    1  R<  »\l  I  ABl  I  . 

ammunition,  property,  public    and  private,  were  abandoned 
at  every  step;  and  so  complete  was  the  paralysis  that  the 

Sepoys  allowed  their  muskets  to  be  taken  oul  of  theii  h 

without  attempting  any  resistant  e.     T 

rible  in  this  frightful  defile.    Three  thousand 

the  balls  or  knives  of  the  Affghans  ;  and  In  the  m 

the  confusion  of  this  scene  of  carnage  the  English   la 
who  accompanied  the  columns  on  horseba*  k,  ofl 
their  eves  in  vain  to  descry  their  children,  lost  in  the  hon 
ill  which  they  were  enveloped. 

S  nil  of  the  troops  as  contrived  to  get  through  thi9 
ful  defile  had  fresh  difficulties  of  a  different  kind  to  - 
with.     The  road  now  ascended  the  high  table-land  ol  I 

nil,  and  the  snow  fell  in  great  quantities,  rendering  it  in 
many  places  impassable  for  animals  or  ran  \ 

biting  wind  from  the  north-east  swept  over  the  lofl 
surface,  rendering  it  almost  certain  death  to  sit  down,  ; 
ever  wearied  die  wretches  might  be.      Here,  however, 
whole  army  was  obliged  to  bivouac,  without  coveril 
or  shelter  of  any  kind.     There  were  only  four  tents  left  ; 
one  was  given  to  the  General,  two  to  the  lad  i  the 

sick.     In  compliance  with  a  recommendation   from  Al 
Khan,  the  army  halted  for  a  day;   but  the  inexpedi 
this   delay   was  so   evident   that  .1  part   of  the   native- 

troops  and  camp  followers  moved  on  without  any  order. 
the  sepoys  began  to  desert  in  great  number-.      Akbar  K 
seeing  the  troops  reduced  to  this  woeful  plight,  1 
his  demand  for  the  giving  up  of  the  man.  1 
their  wives,  he  promising  to  keep  them  a  day1  h  in  the 

rear  of  the  army,  and   in   perfect  safety.      1 
this  proposal  was  to  honourable  and  gallant 
ance  was  made  to  it — so  evident  to  all  « 
the  case,  and  so  certain  the  destruction  \\ 
if  they  remained   with  the  remnant  ol  th 


126      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

after  the  whole  ladies,  with  their  husbands,  escorted  by  a 
troop  of  Affghan  horse,  set  out  for  the  rear  of  the  army,  and 
were  placed  in  the  power  of  the  treacherous  barbarian. 

The  European  soldiers  were  now  (ioth  January)  almost 
the  only  efficient  troops  left.  The  sepoys,  unaccustomed  to 
a  rigorous  climate,  had  almost  all  sunk  or  been  slain  by  the 
Affghans.  Nearly  all  of  them  were  frost-bitten  in  the  hands 
f  xe,  or  feet ;  few  were  able  to  hold  a  musket,  much  less 
draw  a  trigger ;  the  prolonged  march  in  the  snow  had 
paralysed  the  mental  and  physical  powers  even  of  the 
strongest  men.  "  Hope,"  says  Eyre,  "  seemed  to  have  died 
in  every  breast ;  the  wildness  of  terror  was  exhibited  in 
every  countenance."  The  end  was  now  approaching.  At 
the  entrance  of  a  narrow  gorge,  where  the  road  passed 
between  two  hills,  a  strong  body  of  Affghan  marksmen 
appeared,  who  barred  all  farther  passage  and  kept  up  so 
heavy  a  fire  on  the  column  as  it  approached,  that  the  whole 
sepoys  broke  and  fled.  Seeing  this  the  Affghans  rushed 
down,  sword  in  hand,  captured  the  public  treasure,  and  all 
of  the  baggage  which  hitherto  had  been  preserved.  A 
hundred  and  fifty  cavalry  troopers,  fifty  horse  artillerymen, 
one  hundred  and  forty  of  the  44th,  and  one  gun,  alone 
forced  their  way  through,  and  formed  now  the  sole  remain- 
ing fighting  men  of  the  army.  Akbar  proposed  a  surrender 
to  this  little  body;  but  they  indignantly  rejected  the  pro- 
posal, and  pushed  on,  sword  in  hand,  through  the  crowds 
of  camp-followers,  bands  of  Affghans,  and  the  snowy 
wilderness. 

Still  hovering  around  the  rear  guard,  the  Affghan  horsemen 
continued  the  pursuit  of  the  miserable  but  undaunted  band 
of  men  who,  in  defiance  of  all  obstacles,  continued  their 
course.  Oppressed  by  a  crowd  of  camp-followers,  and 
almost  as  much  impeded  by  them  as  by  their  enemies,  the 
wreck  of  the  British  force  made  its  desperate  way  down  the 


III!,    li.l  LI. A  I     I  Rl  .\I    (  Al.l   I 

steep  ilt.- tent  of  the  II.  n  K.0U1I,    itrewn  with  the   mel 
choly   remains  of    camp-followers   and    soldiers   v. 
formed  the  advance  oi  the  column.     As  the) 
wards  to  Fezeen,  a  heavy  tire  was  1  mi  the  flank 

the  column  ;  but  the  rear  guard,  led   by  Shelton,  with  ii 
cible  firmness  repelled  the  assault,  and  fur  a  dm 
the   remnant  of  the  force    from  destruction.      Seeing  ruin 
inevitable  if  a  start  was  not  gained  upon  the  enemy,  Shelton 
proposed  a  night  march,   in   the   hope   of  shak  the 

crowd  of  camp-followers  which,    from   the    very  begini 
had  clung  to  them,  and  proved  as  injurious  as  the  j 
the  enemy.      Having  spiked  the>r  last  gun,  th<  i  a' 

ten  at  night ;  but  the  alarm  had  spread  to  the  camp-follov* 
and  they  clustered  round  them  as  ruinously  as  before.      Ii 
was  a  clear  frosty  night,  and  for  some  hours  the  march 
unmolested;    but  before  morning  the  enemy  overtook  the 
rear  and  opened  a  fire  on  the  dark    moving    1.  vhich 

impelled  the  terrified  crowd  of  camp-followers  upon  the  few 
soldiers    in  front,   and   blocking   up   the   road,   rendered  it 
necessary  for  the  rear  guard  to  force  a  passage  through  at 
the  bayonet's  point.     When  the  way  was  at  length  cleared, 
a  dense  mass  of  Affghans  was  found  crowning  the  hi 
in  front  and  barring  any  farther  progress ;  but  the  little  I 
of  European  heroes,  led  by  Shelton,  kept   the  enemy  in  the 
rear    in    check,  and  gallantly  forced  their  way  through   t<> 
Jugdulluck.      Here  the  men  lay  down   in   the  snofl   ' 
a  few  hours'  rest,  after  thirty  hours'  incessant  man  hing  and 
waking;  but  hardly  had  they  done  so  when  a  lire 
upon  them  by  the  Affghans,  and  they  were  compelled  • 
more  to  fight.     The  enemy,  however,  deterred  by  their  re- 
solution, fled  on   their  approach  ;  and  the  wearied  column 
returned  to   Jugdulluck,   where  they  remained    undi  r   the 
shelter  of  a  ruined  wall,  but  still  exposed  to  the  Ii: 
Affghans,  all  the  succeeding  day. 


ioS      l'KOSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

Here  the  conferences  were  resumed,  and  Akbar  Khan 
insisted  upon  General  Elphinstone,  Brigadier  Shelton,  and 
Captain  Johnson,  remaining  hostages  in  his  hands  for  the 
evacuation  of  Jellalabad.  This  was  not  at  first  agreed  to, 
and  these  officers  repaired  to  the  Affghan  chiefs  headquarters 
to  arrange  the  terms,  where  they  were  detained  by  force,  in 
defiance  of  their  sacred  character  as  pacific  negotiators ; 
Elphinstone  and  Shelton  remained  in  Akbar  Khan's  hands  ^ 
and  Johnson,  who  understood  Persian,  overheard  the  party 
who  surrounded  them  conversing  in  that  language  on  the 
pleasure  they  would  have  in  cutting  the  Feringhee's  throats. 
The  remaining  body  of  the  British,  now  reduced  to  one 
hundred  and  forty-five  fighting  men,  resumed  their  march 
at  nightfall  on  the  12th,  and  plunged  into  the  deep  and 
gloomy  Jugdulluck  Pass.  On  approaching  the  summit, 
they  found  the  mouth  blocked  by  a  stout  barricade,  from 
behind  which  the  Affghans  threw  in  volley  after  volley  on 
the  struggling  throng.  Here  Brigadier  Antequil,  Colonel 
Chambers,  Major  Thain,  and  Captain  Nicholl,  fell  and 
died.  Not  above  twenty  officers  and  forty  men  succeeded 
in  forcing  the  fatal  barrier.  Their  only  hope  consisted  in 
straggling  on  ahead  of  their  pursuers  to  Jellalabad.  As 
day  dawned  they  approached  Gundamuck  ;  but  there  their 
numerical  weakness  became  visible,  and  they  were  again 
surrounded  by  a  body  of  the  enemy.  Captain  Souter  tied 
the  colours  of  his  regiment  round  his  waist,  by  which  they 
were  preserved,  and  the  unconquerable  band  of  heroes 
pursued  their  way  on,  though  sorely  weakened  at  every 
step.  In  a  desperate  struggle  on  leaving  Gundamuck, 
nearly  every  man  in  the  British  party  was  either  killed  or 
wounded.  Twelve  officers  and  a  few  cavalry,  all  bleeding, 
rode  ahead  of  the  troop,  and  all  but  six  of  them  dropped 
down  from  their  horses  before  reaching  Futtehabad.  This 
small  remnant  was  treacherously  assailed  there,  when  taking 


GEOKGK  STEPH1  NSON. 

food,  by  the    natives,  who  had   professed  I 

began   by  showing  kindness;   two  were    slain,   th 
reached  their  horses  and  d.     All  perished,  how 

excepting  one  man,  Mr.  Brydon,  before  reaching  I   llal 
Worn  out  and  wounded,  he  had  struggled  on,  borne  by  a 
jaded  pony,  till  the  walls  of  the  fortress  appeared  in 
He  was  descried  from  the  ramparts,  and  brought  in  by  a 
party  sent  to  succour  him,    being  the  sole  survivor,   i 
captive,  of  the  Afghanistan  expedition. 


XXIV. 
GEORGE  STEPHENSON. 

J.    H.    FYFE. 

[The  invasion  of  Afghanistan,  and  the  massacre  which   it 

brought  about,  so  shook  British  power  in   India  thai 
after  war  followed  with  the  native  powers  which  reraai 
independent.     Their  struggles  however  were  fruitless  ;  and 
the  conquest  of  Scinde  and  the   Punjaub  left    Englan  1 

masters  of  all  India.   Meanwhile  industrial  energy  at  home 
was  intensified  by  the  appli<  ati  >n  of  steam  to  th  :  purp 
of  transport.      Steamships  w 

and  on  land    the  genius   of  G     irge  Stephenson   i 
England  with  railroads.] 

Towabds  the  close  ot  the  last  century  a  bare  i 
laddie,  about  eight  years  old,  might  have  been  seen,  m  a 
field  at  Dewley  Burn,  a  little  villa  N        istle, 

amusing  himself  by  making  day  engines,  with  bits  of  h 
lock-stalk  for  imaginary  pipes.     The  child  is   fath< 
man,  and  in  after  years  that  little  fell  »w  1 
of    the    passenger    locomotive,  and 
gigantic  railway  system  which  now  spreads  il  r  the 


t3o      THOSE  READINGS  FROM   ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

length  and  breadth,  not  only  of  our  own  country,  but  of  the 
civilized  world,  the  true  hero  of  the  half-century. 

The  second  son  of  a  fireman  to  one  of  the  colliery 
engines,  who  had  six  children  and  a  wife  to  support  on  an 
income  of  twelve  shillings  a  week,  George  Stephenson  had 
to  begin  work  while  quite  a  child.  At  first  he  was  set 'to 
look  after  a  neighbour's  cows,  and  keep  them  from  straying 
and  afterwards  he  was  promoted  to  the  work  of  leading 
horses  at  the  plough,  hoeing  turnips,  and  such  like,  at  a 
salary  of  fourpence  a  day.  The  lad  had  always  been  fond 
of  poking  about  in  his  father's  engine-house  ;  and  his  great 
ambition  at  this  time  was  to  become  a  fireman  like  his 
father.  And  at  length,  after  being  employed  in  various  ways 
about  the  colliery,  he  was,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  appointed 
his  father's  assistant  at  a  shilling  a  day.  The  next  year  he 
got  a  situation  as  foreman  on  his  own  account;  and  "  now," 
said  he,  when  his  wages  were  advanced  to  twelve  shillings 
a  w?ek — "  now  I'm  a  made  man  for  life." 

The  next  step  he  took  was  to  get  the  place  of  "  plugman  " 
to  the  same  engine  that  his  father  attended  as  fireman,  the 
former  post  being  rather  the  higher  of  the  two.  The  busi- 
ness of  the  plugman  is  to  watch  the  engine,  and  see  that  it 
works  properly — the  name  being  derived  from  the  duty  of 
plugging  the  tube  at  the  bottom  of  the  shaft,  so  that  the 
action  of  the  pump  should  not  be  interfered  with  by  the 
exposure  of  the  suction  holes.  George  now  devoted  him- 
self enthusiastically  to  the  study  of  the  engine  under  his 
care.  It  became  a  sort  of  pet  with  him  ;  and  he  was  never 
weary  of  taking  it  to  pieces,  cleaning  it,  putting  it  together 
again,  and  inspecting  its  various  parts  with  admiration  and 
delight,  so  that  he  soon  made  himself  thoroughly  master  of 
its  method  of  working  and  construction. 

Eighteen  years  old  by  this  time,  George  Stephenson  was 
wholly  uneducated.     His  father's  small  earnings,  and   the 


rEPHENSON. 

largo  family  he  had  to  feed,  at  a  time  when  ; 
«■  ami  at  war  prices,  prevented  his  bavin 

in   his  early  years;    and  he  now  set   him 

ih  ficiencies  in  that  respect   His  duties  <><  cupied  him  tw 

hours  a  day,  so  that  he  had  but  little  leisure  to  himself  . 

he  was  bent  on  improving   himself,  and   after  the   duti<        I 
the  day  were  over,  went  to  a  night-s<  hool   kept  by  a 

her  in  the  village  of   Water-row,   where   he   was  now 
situated,  on  three  nights  during  the  week,  to  take  Lessons  in 
.'eading  and  spelling,  and  afterwards  in  the  science  <>t 
hooks   and   hangers  as   well;  so   that  by  the   time   he   was 
nineteen  he  was  able  to  read  clearly,  and    to  write   his  < 
name.     Then  he  took  to  arithmetic,   for  which  he  show 
great  predilection.     He  had  always  a  sum  or  two  by  him  to 
work  out  while  at   the  engine  side,   and  soon  made   . 
progress. 

Having  learned  all   he  could  from  the  village  tea* 
George  Stephenson  now  began   to  study  mensuration 
mathematics  at  home  by  himself;   but  he  also  found  tin. 
make  a  number  of  experiments  in   the   hope  of  findii 
the  secret  of  perpetual  motion,  and  to  make  shoe-1 
shoes,    as    well    as    mend  them.     At  the  end  of  lSo;,    his 
only    son,    Robert,    was  born;    and  soon   after  the  fai 
removed    to    Killingworth,    seven   miles    from    Newcastle, 
where  George  got  the  place  of  brakesman.     They  had 
been   settled  long  here  when  his  wife  died— a 
affected  George  deeply,  and   attached   him   all  the  more  in- 
tensely to  the  offspring  of  their  union.      At  this  time  i 
thing  seemed  to  go  wrong  with  him.     As  if  his  wile's  death 
was  not  grief  enough,  his  father  met  with  an  accident  wl 
deprived   him   of    his   eyesight   ami  shattered  his    fi 
George  himself  was  drawn  for  the  militia,  and  had   to  : 
heavy  sum  of  money  for  a  substitute  ;  and  with   his   father, 
and   mother,  and   his  own   boy  to  support,  at  a   time  when 


132 


TROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 


taxes  where  excessive  and  food  dear,  he  had  only  a  salary  of 
£s°  or  £6°  a  Year  t0  rneet  all  claims.  He  was  on  the 
verge  of  despair,  and  would  have  emigrated  to  America,  if, 
fortunately  for  our  country,  he  had  not  been  unable  to  raise 
sufficient  money  for  his  passage.  So  he  had  to  stay  in  the 
old  country,  where  a  bright  and  glorious  future  awaited 
him,  dark  and  desperate  as  the  prospect  then  appeared. 

About  this  time  a  new  pit  having  been  sunk  in  the  dis- 
trict where  he  worked,  the  engine  fixed  for  the  purpose  of 
pumping  the  water  out  of  the  shaft  was  found  a  failure. 
This  soon  reached  George's  ears.  He  walked  over  to  the 
pit,  carefully  examined  the  various  parts  of  the  machinery, 
and  turned  the  matter  over  in  his  mind.  One  day  when  he 
was  looking  at  it,  and  almost  convinced  that  he  had  dis- 
covered the  cause  of  the  failure,  one  of  the  workmen  came 
up,  and  asked  him  if  he  could  tell  what  was  wrong. 

"  Yes,"  said  George ;  "  and  I  think  I  could  alter  it,  and 
in  a  week's  time  send  you  to  the  bottom."  George  offered 
his  services  to  the  engineer.  Every  expedient  had  been 
tried  to  repair  the  engine,  and  all  had  failed.  There  could 
be  no  harm,  if  no  good,  in  Stephenson  trying  his  hand  on  it. 
So  he  got  leave  and  set  to  work.  He  took  the  engine  en- 
tirely to  pieces,  and  in  four  days  had  repaired  it  thoroughly, 
so  that  the  workmen  could  get  to  the  bottom  and  proceed 
with  their  labours.  George  Stephenson's  skill  as  an  engine- 
doctor  began  to  be  noised  abroad,  and  secured  him  the 
post  of  engine- wright  at  Killingworth  with  a  salary  of  ;£ioo 
a  year. 

The  idea  of  constructing  a  steam-engine  to  run  on  the 
colliery  tramroads  leading  to  the  shipping  place,  was  now 
receiving  considerable  attention  from  the  engineering  com- 
munity. Several  schemes  had  been  propounded,  and 
engines  actually  made  ;  but  none  of  them  had  been  brought 
into  use.     A  mistaken  notion  prevailed  that  the  plain  round 


RA1   \KI   \\  \ 

wheels  of  an  engine  would  .slip  round  wil 
of  the  mils,  and  that  thus  no  ]  .  would  be 

George  Stephenson  soon  became  convinced  that  the 
of  the  engine  would  of  itself  be  sufficient  to  press  the  w! 
to  the  rails,  so  that  they  could  not  fail  to  bite.     He  tui 
the  subject  over  and  over  in  his  mind,  tested  his 
by   countless    experiments,    and   at   length    compl  I    I 
scheme.     Money  lor  the  construction  of  a  locom 
on  his  plan   naving  been  supplied   by  Lord    R 
one  was  made  after  many  difficulties,  and   placed  upon  the 
trararoad   at   Killingworth,  where    it   drew  a  load   of  thirty 
tons  up  a  somewhat  steep  gradient  at  the  rate  of  four  i 
an  hour.       Still  there  was  very  little  saving  in  cost,  and  little 
advance   in   speed  as  compared  with  horse  power,  but  in  a 
,  second  one,  which  Stephenson  quickly  set  about   const) 
ing,  he  turned  the  waste  steam  into  the  chimney  to  in<  i 
the  draught,  and  thus  puff  the  fuel  into  a  brisker  Sam  . 
create  a  larger  volume  of  steam  to  propel   the   kx   imo&ve. 
The   fundamental   principles    of   the    engine   thus    formed 
remain    in   operation    to   this   day  :  and  it   may  in  truth    be 
termed  the  progenitor  of  the  great  locomotive  family. 


XXV. 

BA1  AK1  AVA. 

W.    H.    RUSS1  II. 

[What  had  aided  above  all  the  industrial   and   commt 
growth  of  England,  was  the  i  e  which  had  ]  i 

in  Europe  since  the  fall  of  Napoleon.      In  185a  1 
this  was   broken  by  a  war  of    I 
Russia   in    defence   of    the    Turkish    1  inp 
gathered   round   the  fortress  of   : 
Sea,  which  was   besieged   by  the  allies;   but  the  b 


,;1    pros:':  readings  from  English  history. 

were  soon  besieged  in  their  turn  by  the  increasing  masses 
of  Russian  troops,  who  not  only  attacked  the  positions 
they  held  on  the  plateau  south  of  the  town,  but  strove  to 
cut  them  off  from  Balaklava,  their  main  harbour.  Here 
however  they  were  met  and  defeated  by  the  British 
forces.  The  battle  of  Balaklava  has  been  described  by 
an  eye-witness.] 

Never  did  the  painter's  eye  rest  on  a  more  beautiful 
scene  than  I  beheld  from  the  ridge.1  The  fleecy  vapours 
still  hung  around  the  mountain  tops,  and  mingled  with  the 
ascending  volumes  of  smoke ;  the  speck  of  sea  sparkled 
freshly  in  the  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  but  its  light  was 
eclipsed  by  the  flashes  which  gleamed  from  the  masses  of 
armed  men  below. 

Looking  to  the  left  towards  the  gorge,  we  beheld  six 
compact  masses  of  Russian  infantry,  which  had  just  de- 
bouched from  the  mountain  passes  near  the  Tchernaya,2 
and  were  slowly  advancing  with  solemn  stateliness  up  the 
valley.  Immediately  in  their  front  was  a  regular  line  of 
artillery,  of  at  least  twenty  pieces  strong.  Two  batteries  of 
light  guns  were  already  a  mile  in  advance  of  them,  and  were 
playing  with  energy  on  the  redoubts,  from  which  feeble  puffs 
of  smoke  came  at  long  intervals.  Behind  these  guns,  in 
front  of  the  infantry,  were  enormous  bodies  of  cavalry. 
They  were  in  six  compact  squares,  three  on  each  flank, 
moving  down  en  echelon  towards  us,  and  the  valley  was  lit 
up  with  the  blaze  of  their  sabres  and  lance  points  and  gay 
accoutrements.  In  their  front,  and  extending  along  the 
intervals  between  each  battery  of  guns,  were  clouds  of 
mounted  skirmishers,  wheeling  and  whirling  in  the  front  of 
heir  march  like  autumn  leaves  tossed  by  the  wind.  The 
Zouaves3  close  to  us  were  lying  like  tigers  at  the  spring, 

1  Above  the  plain  of  Balaklava.  -  The  s/rcam  winch 

-passed  through  the  valley  of  Balaklava.  3  French  troops 

from  Algeria. 


BALAKJ  AVA, 

with  ready  rifles  in  hand,  hi. Mm  chin-deep  by  thi 
works  which  run  along  the  line  of  these  ridges  on  i 
but  the  quick-eyed  Russians  were  manoeuvring  on  the  other 
side  of  the  valley    and  did  not  expose  their  column 
attack.       Below    the    Zouaves    we    could    see    the    Turkish 
gunners  in  the  redoubts;4  all  is  confusion  a,  the  shells  i 
over  them. 

Just   as   I   came   up   the   Russians   bad   carried    Mo.  i 
redoubt,   th ?  farthest  and  most  elevated  of  all,  and  their 
horsemen  were  chasing  the  Turks  a<  ross  the  interval  which 
lay  between  it  and   redoubt  No.  2.     At  that  moment  the 
cavalry,  under  Lord  Lucan,  were  form,  d  in  glittering  ma 
— the   Light  Brigade,   under   Lord   Cardigan,    in    a 
the    Heavy   Brigade,  under   Brigadier-General    Scarlett,   in 
reserve.     They  were  drawn  up  just  in  front  of  their  encamp- 
ment, and  were  concealed  from  the  view  of  the  enemy  by 
a  slight  "  wave  "  in  the  plain.     Considerably  to  th. 
their  right,  the  93rd  Highlanders  were  drawn   up  in  line,  in 
front  of  the  approach  to   Balaklava.      Above  and   behind 
them,  on  the  heights,  the  marines  were  visible   thro 
glass,  drawn  up  underarms,  and   the  gunners  could 
ready  in  the  earthworks,  in  which  were  placed  the  h 
ship's  guns.     The  93rd  had  originally  been  advanced  s< 
what  more  into  the  plain,  but  the  instant  the  Russians 
possession   of  the  first   redoubt    they  opened   lire  on 
from    our  own    guns,   which   inflicted   some   injury, 
Colin   Campbell8   "retired"   his   men    to    I    better  | 
Meanwhile   the  enemy  advanced  his  cavalry   rapidly. 
our  inexpressible  disgust  we  saw  the  Turks  in  redoubt 
2    fly   at    their    approach.       They    ran    in    scatl 
across  towards  redoubt  No.  3,  and  I 

4  The  plain  was  defended  by  redoubts  »■ 
»  Commander  of  the  Highlander*  in  i 
Lord  Clyde. 


:i6      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

the  horse  hoof  of  the  Cossack  was  too  quick  for  them,  and 
sw(  rd  and  lance  were  busilv  plied  among  the  retreating 
herd.  The  yells  of  the  pursuers  and  pursued  were  plainly 
audible.  As  the  lancers  and  light  cavalry  of  the  Russians 
advanced  they  gathered  up  their  skirmishers  with  great 
speed  and  in  excellent  order — the  shifting  trails  of  men, 
which  played  all  over  the  valley  like  moonlight  on  the 
water,  contracted,  gathered  up,  and  the  little  pcleton  in  a 
few  moments  became  a  solid  column.  Then  up  came  their 
guns,  in  rushed  their  gunners  to  the  abandoned  redoubt, 
and  the  guns  of  No.  2  redoubt  soon  played  with  deadly 
effect  upon  the  dispirited  defenders  of  No.  3  redoubt. 
Two  or  three  shots  in  return  from  the  earthworks,  and  all 
is  silent.  The  Turks  swarm  over  the  earthworks  and  run 
in  confusion  towards  the  town,  firing  their  muskets  at  the 
enemy  as  they  run.  Again  the  solid  column  of  cavalry 
opens  like  a  fan,  and  resolves  itself  into  a  long  spray  of 
skirmishers.  It  laps  the  flying  Turk,  steel  flashes  in  the 
air,  and  down  go  the  poor  Moslem  quivering  on  the  plain, 
split  through  fez  and  musket-guard  to  the  chin  and  breast- 
belt. 

There  is  no  support  for  them.  It  is  evident  the  Russians 
have  been  too  quick  for  us.  The  Turks  have  been  too 
quick  also,  for  they  have  not  held  their  redoubts  long  enough 
to  enable  us  to  bring  them  help.  In  vain  the  naval  guns 
on  the  heights  fire  on  the  Russian  cavalry ;  the  distance  is 
too  great  for  shot  or  shell  to  reach.  In  vain  the  Turkish 
gunners  in  the  earthern  batteries  which  are  placed  along  the 
French  entrenchments  strive  to  protect  their  flying  country- 
men ;  their  shot  fly  wide  and  short  of  the  swarming  masses. 
The  Turks  betake  themselves  towards  the  Highlanders, 
where  they  check  their  flight,  and  form  into  companies  on 
the  flanks  of  the  Highlanders.  As  the  Russian  cavalry  on 
the  left  of  their  line  crown  the  hill  across  the  valley,  they 


i;.\i   \KI  AY  A. 

perceive  tJie  Highlanders  drawn  up  .it  a  distance)  I 

half  mile,  calmly  waiting  their  approach. 

squadron  alter  squadron  flies  up  from  the  rear,  till  ti. 

a  body  of  some  1,500  men  along  the  ridge— 1 

dragoons  and  hussars.     Then  they  move  in  two 

another  in  reserve.     The  cavalry  who  have  been  p 

Turks  on  the  right  are  coming  up  to  the  ri<   ; 

which  conceals  ourca:  ih\  from  view.    The  heav)  bri 

advance  is  drawn  up  in  two  lines.     The  first  line  1 

the  Scots  Greys,  and  of  their  old  companions  in  glory,  the 

J  nniskillens ;  the  second  of  the  4th  Royal  Irish   of  lb 

lhagoon  Guards,  and  of  the    1  >t   Royal    Drag 

Light   Cavalry  Brigade  is  on  their  left,   in   two  In. 

The  silence  is  oppressive;  between  the  cannon   bui 

can  hear  the  champing  of  bits  and   the  clink  of  s.ihp 

the  valley  below.     The   Russians  on  their  left 

for  a  moment,  and  then   in   one  grand   line  d   at   the 

Highlanders.     The  ground  Hies  beneath  their  h 

gathering  speed   at  every  stride,  they  dash  0 

thin  red  streak  topped  with  a  line  of  steel.      The  Turks 

a  volley  at  eight  hundred  yaids  and  run.      As  the  Russ 

come  within  six  hundred  yards,  down  goes  that  I 

in  front,  and  out  rings  a  rolling  volley  of  Minie  musketry. 

The   distance   is   too  great;  the    Rus      0        re   not- 

but  still  sweep  onward  through  the  smoke,  with  the  \\ 

force  of  horse  and    man,  here   and   there  ki  1   by 

the  shot  of  our   batteries  above.      With    bre.uhk 

every  one  awaits  the  bursting  of  the  wave  upon  the  Un      I 

Gaelic  ro<  k  ;  but  ere  they  come  within  one  hundred 

fifty  yards,  another  deadly  volley  Hashes  frond   the  le\         I 

rifle,  and  carries  death  and   tenor  into  the  B  Hie) 

wheel  about,  open   files  right  and   left,  and   tly 

than  they  came.     "  Bravo,  Highlanders  !  \\<::  «. 

the  excited   spectators ;    but   events  thi<  I 


133     PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY, 

landers  and  their  splendid  front  are  soon  forgotten,  mei; 
scarcely  have  a  moment  to  think  of  this  fact,  that  the  93rd 
never  altered  their  formation  to  receive  that  tide  of  horse- 
men. "  No,"  said  Sir  Colin  Campbell,  "  I  did  not  think  it 
worth  while  to  form  them  even  four  deep  !  "  The  ordinary 
British  line,  two  deep,  was  quite  sufficient  to  repel  the  attack 
of  these  Muscovite  cavaliers. 

Our  eyes  were  however  turned  in  a  moment  on  our  own 
cavalry.  We  saw  Brigadier-General  Scarlett  ride  along  in 
front  of  his  massive  squadrons.  The  Russians — evidently 
corps  cT  elite — their  light  blue  jackets  embroidered  with  silver 
lace,  were  advancing  on  their  left,  at  an  easy  gallop,  towards 
the  brow  of  the  hill.  A  forest  of  lances  glistened  in  their 
rear,  and  several  squadrons  of  grey-coated  dragoons  moved 
up  quickly  to  support  them  as  they  reached  the  summit. 
The  instant  they  came  in  sight  the  trumpets  of  our  cavalry 
gave  out  the  warning  blast  which  told  us  all  that  in  another 
moment  we  should  see  the  shock  of  battle  beneath  our  very 
eyes.  Lord  Raglan,6  all  his  staff  and  escort,  and  groups  of 
officers,  Zouaves,  French  generals  and  officers,  and  bodies 
of  French  infantry  on  the  height,  were  spectators  of  the 
scene  as  though  they  were  looking  on  the  stage  from  the 
boxes  of  a  theatre.  Nearly  every  one  dismounted  and  sat 
down,  and  not  a  word  was  said.  The  Russians  advanced 
down  the  hill  at  a  slow  canter,  which  they  changed  to  a  trot, 
and  at  last  nearly  halted.  Their  first  line  was  at  least  double 
the  length  of  ours — it  was  three  times  as  deep.  Behind 
them  was  a  similar  line,  equally  strong  and  compact.  They 
evidently  despised  their  insignificant  looking  enemy,  but 
their  time  was  come.  The  trumpets  rang  out  again  through 
the  valley,  and  the  Greys  and  Enniskilleners  went  right  at 
the  centre  of  the  Russian  cavalry.  The  space  between  them 
was  only  a  few  hundred  yards ;  it  was  scarce  enough  to  lei 
0  Commander-in-chief  of  the  British  army. 


BALAKLAVA 

the  horses  "gather  way,"  nor  had  the  men  quit)  uffi 

cient  for  the  full  play  of  their  sword  arms.     Th      I 

line  brings  forward  each  wing  as  our  cavalry  advance,  and 

threatens  to  annihilate  them  as  they  m     Turnit 

little  to  their  left,  so  as  to  meet  the  Russian  right,  thi   I  I 
rush   on   with  a  cheer  that  thrills  to  every  heart— the  \ 
shout  of  the  Enniskilleners  rises  through  the  air  at  the 
nstant.     As  lightning  flashes  through  a  cloud,  the  Gi 
and   Enniskilleners    pierced    through    the   dark    m  oi 

Russians.     The  shock  was  but  for  a  moment     There 
a  clash  of  steel  and  a  light  play  of  sword  blades  in  the  air, 
and  then  the  Greys  and  the  red- oats  disappear  in  the  midst 
of  the  shaken  and  quivering  columns.     In  another  moment 
we  see  them   emerging  and  dashing  on   with   diminish 
numbers,    and    in    broken   order,    against    the    second    line 
which  is  advancing  against  them  as  last  as  it  can  to  rei 
the    fortune    of    the    charge.      It    was    a  terrible   moment 
"Cod  help  them!  they  are  lost !"  was  the  exclamation 
more  than  one  man  and  the  thought  of  many.     With 
abated  fire  the  noble  hearts  dashed  at  their  enemy.      Il 
a  fight  of  heroes.     The  first  line  of  Russians,  which   1 
been  smashed  utterly  by  oui  cnarge,  ami  had  lied  oil  at  one 
flank  and  towards  the  centre,  were  coming  ba<  k  to  sua: 
up  our  handful  of  men.      By  sheer  steel  and   sIklt  * 
Enniskillener  and  Scot  were  winning  their  desperate   way 
right  through  the  enemy's  squadrons,  and  already  grej  hoi 
and  red  coats  had  appeared  right  at  the  rear  of  the  second 
mass,  when,  with  irresistible  fort  e,  like  one  bolt  from 
the   ist   Royals,    the   4th    Dragoon    Guai  1    the   5th 

'Dragoon  Guards,  rushed  at  the  remnai  the  first  lint 

the  enemy,  went  through  it  as  though  it  weir  1 
board,  and  dashing  on  the  second  body  of  Ru     iai  •  ■  -  they 
were  still  disordered  by  the  terrible  assault  of  t:      I 
their  companions,   put   them    to    uttei    tout.      'I'        Ru 
20 


i4o      PROSE  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 

horse  in  less  than  five  minutes  after  it  met  our  dragoons 
was  flying  with  all  its  speed  before  a  force  certainly  not  half 
its  strength.  A  cheer  burst  from  every  lip — in  the  enthu- 
siasm, officers  and  men  took  off  their  caps  and  shouted  with 
delight,  and  thus  keeping  up  the  scenic  character  of  their 
position,  they  clapped  their  hands  again  and  again. 


THE    END. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  PEOPLE. 

By  JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN,  M.A., 

Author  of  "  A  Short  History  of  the  English  People,"  "  Stray  BtadlM  ir<>m 

England  and  Italy*" 

In  Four  Volumes,    Vols,  /.,  //..  and  ///.  ready. 
8vo,  Cloth,  s2  50  per  volume. 


Tho  extraordinary  success  ofGreen'a  "Short  History  of  the  Eng- 
lish People."  was  due  to  three  things:  its  brevity,  n>  treatment  •  •! 
the  national  life  beyond  the  strut  domain  of  politi(  9,  and  the  ad- 
niirable  power  of  lucid  and  picturesque  narrative  shown  by  the 
author.  The  story  of  England  is  always  interesting,  bnl  In  1 1 1 •  - 
pages  of  Maeanlay  and  Green  it  is  fascinating.  Mr.  <■■■  ■  .  who  is 
an  examiner  in  history  at  Oxford,  proved  by  this  work  his  thorough 
mastery  of  English  history  and  his  singular  lit'  r.ny  skill,  and  th<> 
larger,  but  not  bulky,  history  which  the  first  book  Implied  Is  now 
appearing.  It  has  all  the  charm  of  the  earlier  volume,  with  in  op- 
portunity for  greater  picturesquenees  of  detail,  and  it  la  trul 
masterpiece  of  narration.  The  Btyle  is  simple,  racy,  and  vivid; 
the  movement  continuous  and  alluring.  The  lift  of  the  original 
Englishmen  before  they  came  t"  Britain,  with  its  social  and  politi- 
cal conditions,  i.-.  sketched  with  greal  felicity,  and  Invested  with  .» 
human  interest.    With  all  Its  grace  and  charm,  the  l k  is  ■ 

ous  and  wholesome  in   tone,  free  from  con!:  hut  full  of  the 

indications  of  a  sound  judgment  and  nature,  and  of  the 

best  historical  spirit.    The  author's  powei  of  oondenaation, with- 
out  losing  the  interest  and  color,  the  light  and  shade  of  bis  1 1 


Green  V  History  of  the  English  People. 


remarkable.     Without  the  slightest  sacrifice  of  whal  is-  essential, 

he  is  never  dry.  He  knows  instinctively  that  (he  stately  prolixi- 
ty 6f  the  dlil  historians  is  now  necessarily  antiquated,  and  the  very 
faculty  that  he  displays  of  picturesque  condensation  without  bar- 
renness has  become  a  cardinal  qualification  of  the  historian. 

Four  moderate  volumes  give  room  for  a  sufficiently  ample  treat- 
ment, and  it  is  so  comprehensive, complete,  and  satisfactory  that 
Green's  must  become  the  standard  history  of  England,  not  only  as 
a  popular  history,  hut  as  the  history  of  the  people. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  NOTICES  OF  TEE  FIRST  AND  SECOND  VOLUMES. 

Mr.  Green,  a  few  years  ago,  had  the  satisfaction,  to  use  theatrical  lan- 
guage, of  achieving  a  brilliant  success.  He  had  the  rare  fortune  to  write 
a  book  that  everybody  read;  scholars  acknowledged  his  learning,  his 
breadth  of  view,  and  his  grasp  of  his  subject.  *  *  *  All  owned  his  charm 
of  style  and  narrative  power,  and  altogether  the  "Short  History  of  the 
English  People"  might  boast  of  having  excited  much  more  of  public  at- 
tention than  is  usually  bestowed  upon  books  of  its  kind.  *  *  *  The  "  History 
of  the  English  People"  no  longer  wears  the  modest  guise  of  a  school-book. 
It  has  become  a  book  of  stately  appearance.  Though  the  materials  of 
the  earlier  book  have  been  worked  into  it,  and  though  we  recognize  many 
of  the  most  brilliant  passages  as  old  friends,  still  the  arrangement  is  so 
altered,  and  the  amount  of  fresh  matter  is  so  large,  that  it  is  substantially 
a  new  work.  History  in  these  days  is  one  of  the  most  progressive  of  sci- 
ences; and  Mr.  Green  deserves  great  credit  for  the  readiness  with  which 
he  has  assimilated  new  information,  for  the  frank  and  unhesitating  man- 
ner in  which  he  has  withdrawn  from  untenable  positions,  and  for  the  pains 
he  has  taken  to  bring  his  work  up  to  the  newest  lights.  *  *  *  The  new 
book,  while  retaining  the  life  and  sparkle  of  its  predecessor,  is  better  pro- 
portioned, calmer  in  tone,  and  altogether  a  more  ripe  and  complete  piece 
of  work. — Saturday  Review,  London. 

Mr.  Green's  style  is  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  he  throws  a  charm  over 
all  that  he  touches. —  II 'utchman,  Boston. 

The  high  moral  tone  of  Mr.  Green's  writings  will  render  them  beneficial 
to  the  young,  and  most  acceptable  to  all  of  the  better  class  of  readers. 
His  treatment  of  religious  questions  is  uniformly  tolerant,  truthful,  and 
amiable.  In  style  he  is  simple,  natural,  and  elegant,  evincing  earnestness 
of  purpose  and  accuracy  of  statement,  and  combining  reliable  philosophic 
generalization  with  peculiar  vivacity  of  detail. — N.  Y.  Times. 


v\  lh\f,<>\  of  thi  English  PeopJt,  < 


The  great  oharm oi  Mi  Green'    earllot  irork  lay  in  the  nu 
of  Ita  Btyle",  its  rioh  fancy,  iti  midneaa  in  nan 
nality.    These  are  Inequalities  whiofa  the  most  readabl 

"i  English  historj  thai  »>■  bare;  and  the 

worth  i-  t<>  i"-  toughl  in  the  wek it  ha  the  bandi  ■ 

■  i.ii  reader.    Number*  <>f  busy  men,  who  hare  not  the  time  p 
i      !i  ii  oi  tory, and  who  had  been  diaguated  by  the  tediouaneaa   u  I 

■  •I  other  abort  hisl  I  Mr.  <. 

inav  in-  -.mi  to  b  ted  a  new  class  <>f  hiatorica]  read  i 

book  bean  the  aame  obarai  t  in  the 

thai  it  i-  likely  to  be  oi  permanent  value  •••It  ia  full  "f  tho 

■  ■  don,     li   is  fully  up  tu  the  level  of  pn  ent  hiatbrical  ci  i 
The  materiala  are  moat  cleverly  put  together;  the 
well  iii.ii  hailed,    it  never  allowi  the  intere  I  i"  i!  i    foi    ko  b   tanl 
it  remaina  bj  far  the  moat  graphic  Bkctch  of  English  liistorj  thai 
i  i        .  [cadany,  London. 

v.!  only  is  the  style  <>i  the  i k  charming,  but,  leaving  the  <  1  ry  de 

tails  <ii"  unimportant  event  ,  the  author  culla  1 1  j « -  grander  ■  rhlcli 

he  weaves  Into  the  connected  hi  tory  with  the  ikill  of  a  finished  « 
—  Chicago  Inter  Ootan, 

It  is  the  kiml  of  history  we  feel  we  must  have;  the  historj  in  which 
we  have  a  personal,  living  interi   t,  thai  really  Instructs  and  1  n  -1 1  ■ 
preparer  ua  for  the  great  responsibility  which  weighs  upon  ua  ■>- 
iii  a  government  "  <>f  the  people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the  peopli 
a  history  Mr.  Green  lias  written  for  the  mass  "i  ua  ia  no  man  I 
before.     Be  portrays  great  men,  lords,  leaders,  kings,  with  the  hand 
master, — Christian  [ntelliaencer^lA   \ 

\ii  Green'a  work  will  supply  a  want  in  our  literature.    There  ia  an  im 
mense  class  of  readers  who  arc  beyond  their  school  days,  and 

read  bl  tory,  and  not  atudj  ii  from  a  texl  i Ic    To  them  M    c 

oome  ai  a  friendly  author  who  gives  ueither  too  much  nor  i«m>  little.— 
imi  Transcript. 

In  John  Richard  Green  the  English  people  have  f id  n  I 

minded,  and  delightfully  fascinating  hi  torian.     I  '•   *i 

it  will  ever  bold  an  honored  plane,    it  baa  made  a  niche  fur  ii 
it  filial  most  admirablj  ;  and,non  thai  wahave  It,  a 
got  along  without  it.     W.  >   H 

Xh,  i.  just  luch  a  li,,nk,  which  hIiouM 

nobles  to  the  background  "i  the  picture,  and  in  who 
and  dynastic  qu  i  tuld  make  waj  i"i  thi 

enfranohiaement  of  the  imlk  oi  ti"'  nation   •  •  •  ID    *yk  at  olaar,  bt 
and  striking!]  unconventional.— JV  ) 


Green 's  History  of  the  English  People. 


It  is  not  only  in  the  addition  of  new  matter  that  this  edition  differs  from 
tiie  former  one.  The  whole  work  is  rearranged,  its  plan  is  made  more  sys- 
tematic, the  narrative  is  more  continuous,  the  style  is  chastened,  errors 
are  corrected,  many  of  Mr.  Green's  peculiarities  in  the  division  of  his  sub- 
ject have  been  abandoned,  and  the  whole  book  wears  a  greater  aspect  of 
sobriety  and  maturity  both  of  thought  and  style.  *  *  *  Mr.  Green  has  done 
a  work  which  probably  no  one  but  himself  could  have  done.  He  has  read 
and  assimilated  the  results  of  all  the  labors  of  students  during  the  last 
half-century  in  the  field  of  English  history,  and  has  given  them  a  fresh 
meaning  by  his  own  independent  study.  He  has  fused  together,  by  the 
force  of  sympathetic  imagination,  all  that  he  has  so  collected,  and  has  given 
us  a  vivid  and  forcible  sketch  of  the  march  of  English  history.  His  book, 
both  in  its  aims  and  in  its  accomplishment,  rises  far  beyond  any  of  a  sim- 
ilar kind,  and  it  will  give  the  coloring  to  the  popular  view  of  English  histo- 
ry for  some  time  to  come.  *  *  *  The  second  volume  gives  us  an  increased 
sense  of  Mr.  Green's  historical  ability. — Examiner,  London. 

Mr.  Green  has  already  achieved  an  enviable  reputation  for  thoroughness 
of  research,  accuracy,  fairness,  insight,  and  the  purity,  freshness,  and  force 
of  his  style.  *  *  *  It  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  observe  that  history  is  no 
longer  to  be  written  in  the  old-fashioned,  narrow  way  of  viewing  the  life 
of  nations.  The  new  philosophy  of  history  has  revolutionized  the  meth- 
ods of  writing  history.  While  kings  and  their  butchering  armies  are  not 
forgotten,  a  hundred  other  commanding  interests  now  share  with  them 
the  attention  of  those  who  study,  humanely,  the  past. — Advance,  Chicago. 

It  is  thoroughly  good  and  readable;    it  is  both  graceful   and  strong. 

*  *  *  The  author  has  not  given  us  the  bones  of  history,  or  merely  its  pag- 
eants, but  the  very  life  and  body  of  it. — Hartford  Courant. 

England  has  a  noble  list  of  historians.  No  other  nation  can  lay  claim 
to  such  a  galaxy  of  chroniclers  as  that  which  embraces  glowing,  rhetorical 
Macaulay ;  vivid,  logical  Hume ;  terse,  picturesque  Smollett ;  painstaking 
Hallam,  partisan  Cobbett,  or  poetic  Howitt.  Mr.  Green  has  proven  his 
claim  to  rank  with  Freeman  and  Froude,  among  the  better  of  the  Victo- 
rian historians.  He  is  a  truer  historian  than  either,  in  the  sense  that  he 
has  no  fight  with  creeds  or  persons  of  the  past,  and  is  never  guilty  of 
sacrificing  sense  to  sound  or  form.  He  has  succeeded  in  accomplishing 
a  Herculean  task  —  in  traversing  the  beaten  path  of  accepted  tradition 
and  settled  fact,  and,  with  the  same  old  materials,  making  a  new  work. 

*  *  *  Mr.  Green  is  instructive,  and  still  pleasing.  His  style  is  singularly 
clear  and  strong.  Not  a  word  is  misplaced  or  wasted.  His  history  has 
all  the  charm  of  a  romance,  and  merits  popularity  as  the  most  compre- 
hensive and  sympathetic  record  of  the  English  people  in  existence. — Ob- 
server, N.  Y. 


Great's  History   ■/  th\  English  Ptopi*. 

Everj  reader  of  the  "8hor1  Historj  oi  the  English  Peopl 
thai  Mr.  Green  therein  proved  himseli  to  b< 
thai  Bide  of  English  history.     Bis  profound  and  accurate  scholai 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  Bubject,  Ms  keen  sympathy  with  the  pe 
all  the  stages  of  their  long,  patient,  and  sometimes  crui  Uj  baffli  d    I 
against  old  tyrannies  of  thought,  and  custom,  and  lav,  and, 
Bubtle  charm  of  his  literary  Btyle,his  wonderful  precision 
directness,  simplicity,  and  luciditj  of  phrase,  tin-  t  ><  >l<l  p'u-tur.  ■  ,  . 
intense  vividness  of  his  descriptions— all  these  gifts  combined  to  lit  him 
for  the  task  he  undertook,  and  not  many  readers  laid  aside  th< 
History  of  the  English  People"  without  breathing  a  hope  thai  this  i 
might  see  fit  to  write  a  long  bistorj  of  the  English  people,  that  he  might 
elaborate  his  Bketch  into  a  fully  wrought  picture,  that  he  might  do  f..r 
this  side  of  English  history  what  other  historians  have  done  for  the 
of  it  in  which  the  intrigues  oi   courts  and  kings,  wars  and  diplom 
occupy  foremost  places.     This  common  wish  of  all  the  readei 
Green's  work  is  now  in  course  of  fulfilment.  *  *  *  The  Increase  in  the 

value  and  interest  of  the  work  i-  in  a  BOrt  of  geometrical  ratio  to  the  iii- 
crcase  in  its  size. — X.  V.  Boating  Post. 

Too  much  can  hardly  be  said  of  the  excellence  of  this  history,  it-  lucid 
arrangement  of  facts,  its  faithful  characterization  of  kings,  Boldiei 

men,  and  ecclesiastics,  and  its  picturesque   narrative. —  /'/ii/w/>/j./,       I: 
>><■/  Bulletin, 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Green  has  got  the  right  Idea  of  hist 
cal  writing,  for  everywhere  he  subordinates  the  merely  superficial  to 
vital  in  popular  characteristics,  though  mindful  of  the  truth  thai  sccmii 
trivial  circumstance-  afford  the  kej  to  events  and  actions  which 
monly  regarded  as  inexplicable  except  by  profound  theorii 


Pi  bushed  in   HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  N       STobk. 

Sent  by  mail,  poatagt   prepaid,  to  on*  pari     t  ti.    I 
on  rat  ift  vf  tkt  prit 


A  SHORT  HISTORY 


OF 


THE  ENGLISH  PEOPLE. 

BY 

JOHN    RICHARD   GREEN,  M.A. 

8vo,  Cloth,  $1  52. 

It  displays  throughout  a  firm  hold  on  the  subject,  and  a  singularly  wide 
range  of  thought  and  sympathy.  As  a  composition,  too,  the  book  is  clear, 
forcible,  and  brilliant.  It  is  the  most  truly  original  book  of  the  kind  that  I 
ever  saw. — Extract  from,  Letter  o/ Edward  A.  Freeman,  D.C.L.,  LL.D. 

Rightly  taken,  the  history  of  England  is  one  of  the  grandest  human 
stories,  and  Mr.  Green  has  so  taken  it  that  his  book  should  delight  the 
general  reader  quite  as  much  as  it  delights  the  student. — Extract  from  Let- 
ter of  Professor  Henry  Morley. 

We  know  of  no  record  of  the  whole  drama  of  English  history  to  be 
compared  with  it.  We  know  of  none  that  is  so  distinctly  a  work  of  gen. 
ius.  *  *  *  It  is  a  really  wonderful  production.  There  is  a  freshness  and 
originality  breathing  from  one  end  to  the  other — a  charm  of  style,  and  a 
power,  both  narrative  and  descriptive,  which  lift  it  altogether  out  of  the 
class  of  books  to  which  at  first  sight  it  might  seem  to  belong. — Pall  Mall 
Gazette,  London. 

It  is  hard  to  know  what  expressions  to  use  in  speaking  of  such  a  book, 
for  superlatives  of  admiration  would  be  out  of  place,  and  yet  without  them 
it  is  difficult  to  express  the  full  measure  of  appreciation  which  it  deserves. 
— Blackwood's  Magazine. 

Numberless  are  the  histories  of  England,  and  yet  until  now  it  has  been 
difficult  to  select  any  one  from  the  number  as  really  and  thoroughly  satis- 
factory. This  difficulty  exists  no  longer.  We  will  not  go  so  far  as  to  pro- 
nounce Mr.  Green's  book  faultless,  but  we  will  say  without  hesitation  that 
it  is  almost  a  model  of  what  such  a  book  should  be — so  far  above  any 
other  brief  and  complete  history  of  England  that  there  is  no  room  for 
comparison. —  The  Nation,  N.  Y. 


Published  by  HARPER  k  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

£W~  The  above  work  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  Status, 

on  receipt  of  the  price. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
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